Overgrown Child
by Jawhara
Summary: John Watson has to deal with an extremely bored consulting detective who wreaks havoc not only at 221B Bakerstreet but wherever else he can. Friendship and Discipline.
1. Chapter 1

**Overgrown Child**

**Summary**: John Watson has to deal with an extremely bored consulting detective how wreaks havoc not only at 221B Bakerstreet but wherever else he can. Friendship and Discipline.

**Disclaimer**: No, sadly, it is not mine.

**Chapter 1**

„Sherlock, I brought… what are you doing with my computer?"

"I needed to check something and my computer was… oh, look he's right over there." Sherlock grinned innocently and pointed at his own laptop not two feet away.

John put the bags down and strode over to Sherlock. He closed his laptop with more force than necessary, nearly crushing Sherlock's fingers. The consulting detective glared at him and flopped onto the couch.

"We've been over this, Sherlock. You are not allowed to use my computer without asking for it first." John opened the laptop again and began writing the newest entry for his blog.

"You didn't answer your phone."

John sighted exasperatedly and fished his mobile out of his pocket. He checked his missed calls while Sherlock was looking at him in anticipation. "You never called me."

If possible Sherlock's grin widened even more. "I didn't say I did, but I bet you didn't answer either."

John rolled his eyes and decided to ignore the consulting detective. They hadn't had a case in a few days and Sherlock was positively giddy with boredom. Nothing good could come from interacting with him if he was in _that_ mood.

A few minutes passed in silence before Sherlock spoke up again. "Why are you texting Mycroft about me?"

John didn't even look up from his work. "Hm?"

"Here. 'How he's doing? He's bored.' You sent that. 'You didn't leave the flat immediately and found a safe place to stay for a few days?' That was Mycroft. You texted him a smiley, John, a smiley. Is my boredom just fun to you? Don't you see that I suffer?"

"How do you… hey!" Sherlock was currently holding John's phone hostage. The doctor was a hundred percent sure that Sherlock hadn't moved from the couch but he had somehow acquired the phone. John snatched it back. "Would you please leave my stuff alone?" He rubbed his temples tiredly. Sherlock was clearly not the only one who had to suffer when he was bored.

Sherlock huffed. "Fine. If my presence here isn't welcome I will find something else to do!" He brushed John on his way out.

John muttered "Thank god" as he watched Sherlock entering the kitchen. He enjoyed the few short minutes of peace that followed before he was reached by a nauseating smell. "Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

He heard Sherlock yell "Nothing!" followed by a coughing fit. Dark smoke came from the kitchen a few seconds later.

John entered the kitchen against his better judgment. Sherlock had apparently put something in the microwave that shouldn't have been in there. He observed the consulting detective take something out with a pair of tweezers that was colored exactly the same way as the shirt John was currently wearing.

"Did you cut that out of my shirt?" John prayed that the answer was no, but what hope was there?

"Maybe?" Sherlock put the fabric into the sink and turned the water on.

John examined his shirt and found the missing bit of fabric on the back. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock?" He grabbed his arm and dragged him forcefully into the living room. "You can't use me as your personal guinea pig when you are bored."

"Hey, you nearly never wear that shirt. I choose it because you only wear it at home, never when going out. Why should a small bit of missing fabric distress you?" Sherlock yanked his arm free and rubbed the spot where John had grabbed him. He sometimes forgot how strong the former army doctor was.

John exhaled very slowly. He pointed at the door to Sherlock's room. "Get in there!"

Sherlocks eyes narrowed. "You can't send me to my room. I'm not a child!"

"You behave like one. If you can't learn to behave like an adult when you're bored do whatever you have to do in your room!" John put special emphasis on the last three words.

The two men continued to glare at each other, they kept glaring…. and glaring… Sherlock frowned at John, swirled around and retreated to his room. He closed the door with a loud bang.

John smiled when he heard a muffled voice through the door: "You sound like Mycroft!"

"Don't talk. I don't want to hear or see you again before you've calmed down! Is that understood?" John didn't rightly expect an answer.

John worked in silence for the next two hours. He was quite surprised that he hadn't heard from Sherlock during that time and decided to pay him a visit. He was however greeted with an empty room and an open window. "I am so going to kill him!" He grabbed his phone to call the wayward consulting detective when a different caller ID was shown, Lestrade.

"Greg? Hi. He did what? Where is he? Yes thank you, I'll be there in a bit."

**A/N**.: Now, what do you think? Looking forward to another chapter? I am looking forward to your review. If you don't know what to write, just write 'awesome story'. If you want to tell me more, I always appreciate it when people tell me what they liked most and where they see potential for improvement.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N.: Thank you very much for your reviews! They mean a lot to me and I try to answer to each and everyone of them personally.**

**Chapter 2**

„What did he do?"

DI Lestrade nodded at the doctor and closed the door behind him. "Do you see that?" He gestured to the stack of documents neatly arranged on his desk.

John picked one of them up and studied it for a moment. "This homicide is two years old."

"Yes. Some in there are even older, and unsolved. At least until Sherlock Holmes got here." Lestrade looked tired, a look that appeared all too soon on the faces of all those who had dealings with the consulting detective.

"How did he even get in here?" John had had to go through quite a lot of security proceedings before a guide had shown him to Lestrade's office.

"Oh, I'll show you." Lestrade took the remote control and hit play. "It's amazing what can be achieved with a valid ID."

John settled into the visitors chair and could hardly refrain from asking for popcorn when he saw Sherlock Holmes entering the scene, dressed as a police officer. He grinned when he saw the detective flashing an ID card at the security guard. "You might want to train your people to have a closer look."

Lestrade shot him a dirty look. "Where did he even get that ID from?"

"I understand that he pickpockets you when he's bored." John hid a grin behind his hand; it wouldn't do to annoy the inspector even more. He watched Sherlock opening the door with a paperclip that he had found on the elevator floor. John turned around and looked at Lestrade. "What did he do? Solve all your cold cases?"

Lestrade reached for another file that was covered with small yellow post-its. "Murder victim left handed. Couldn't shoot himself," he read. "No blood pattern on road. Crime scene wasn't where he was murdered." Lestrade threw the file down again and a few post-its flattered off. "He left notes, suggestions and insults! Here, this one's my favorite. 'How did you ever make DI? Even John Watson could have solved that case.'"

John actually had to giggle at the last one but he managed to turn it into a cough in time. "What did you do with him?" Amazingly John's own anger at the detective had vanished.

"I locked him up." Lestrade was pacing angrily. "I swear he was only in this office for about an hour before I came back and he went through most of my cases." He opened the door and gestured for John to follow him.

"Is Sherlock alone down there?"

"I don't think so. Dimmock said that he had a murder suspect in there too, I think."

John stopped dead. "You put Sherlock in a cell with someone who's potentially dangerous and vicious? Are you mad? With his big mouth… I hope he's still alive."

Lestrade paled and the two men quickened their pace until they arrived at the cell. What they found disturbed them.

"Finally! Get me out of here!"

John leaned closer to Lestrade and whispered: "Are those tears?" The officer nodded in awe.

Lestrade eyed the man in front of him. He was tall, nearly 6 feet 4. His arms were heavily tattooed, his head shaven and his hands clenched. "Get me away from that maniac!" He pointed to the bench in the far end of the cell.

Sherlock stretched on the bench and shot a dazzling smile at the two men outside the cell. He raised his hand and waved lazily.

Lestrade reached for the key and opened the door. "Come on, Sherlock."

The consulting detective got up, straightened his clothes and left the cell. He turned around and looked at his fellow inmate: "The next time you are unhappy about your wife's affair, try to use gloves. However, I hardly think there will be a next time. Let's go John."

John stared at Sherlock while the detective put his scarf around his neck and turned his collar up. The doctor sighted, shared an exasperated look with Lestrade and hurriedly followed his friend.

They stayed silent during the taxi drive home. Mrs. Hudson tried to greet the boys when they arrived but they seemed so distant that she immediately withdrew.

Sherlock flopped onto the couch and eyed John with a look on his face that was usually found on the faces of misbehaving children. "Go on then. Lecture!" He waved in John's general direction.

John poured himself a cup of tea. Sherlock always accused him of never observing, but he did. Apart from Mycroft he was most likely the best at reading Sherlock Holmes. Currently the detective was drumming his fingers on the coffee table and his eyes were focused on the tapestry. John saw the signs of his friend's attention quickly slipping away. "Sherlock, you are behaving irresponsible. I'm sure Lestrade would allow you to help working on the cold cases if you asked."

Sherlock shrugged. "He wouldn't allow me to do it my way, and his is boring." He ran his hand through his unruly black hair.

"You figured that your insane wish for not being bored allowed you to break into the Yard? You are lucky Lestrade didn't press charges for breaking and entering. Well done, Sherlock, really."

Sherlock glared at John. "So, you are above doing anything stupid, ever?" He picked up a magazine from the coffee table and threw it at John who evaded it easily.

"Okay, that's enough!" John put his cup down and spilled some of his tea. He went over to Sherlock who eyed him nervously. "If you can't behave I am confiscating this!" He took Sherlocks mobile out of his pocket and held it up triumphantly.

"You can't do that!" Sherlock held his hand out. He kept it there for a few seconds while they were conducting one of their staring matches. Finally, Sherlock realized that he was getting nowhere. "You want me to stop being bored? People call my phone if they need our services. They expect me to answer it."

John laughed. "Don't be absurd, Sherlock. No one calls you because they are fascinated with god knows how many types of tobacco ash. Our customers call because they read my blog. They call me."

"Yeah right, your blog…" Sherlock mumbled sulkily. "When can I have it back?"

John shrugged. "We'll see." He had to hide a grin while Sherlock disappeared into his room with an air of indignity around him. He texted a quick 'Thanks' to Lestrade; the heads up about how Sherlock hated to be separated from his phone had been quite useful.

**A/N.:** So… here you go, another one. I hope you like it. The idea about the cold cases came from majorbookluver ( thank you very much!) I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts, sharing them with me makes me happy


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

„This is where you go after tea?"

"How did you get in here? I thought I lost you."

Sherlock shrugged. "It's surprisingly easy to get in here if one wears a suit and a tie." He loosened the knot around his throat and threw the tie on the table. "How can you wear those all the time? Don't answer that, you were always strange." He snatched a file from its owner and looked it over.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Give that back Sherlock. It's classified."

Sherlock threw the file back. "It's boring anyway. You can't arrest the Thai Ambassador anyway." He grabbed a letter opener from the table and played with it on his way to the enormous window. He peered outside and watched two government drivers cleaning their cars while fiddling with the curtain cord.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft had arranged the file in its original position.

"Nothing is going on in the world. Can't you start a war or something? I could use the diversion." He loosened one of the cords that held the heavy curtains back, it fell in place with a loud 'swoosh'.

Mycroft sighted and rubbed his temples. "I think I have to talk to John about letting you out of sight."

Sherlock swirled around and narrowed his eyes. "Do not lay hand on John, do you understand! John is off limits, Mr. I-have-to-kidnap-John-every-time-I-want-to-talk-to-him!"

Mycroft was surprised by the suddenly cold tone. He smirked. "Fine. I won't kidnap him, but I am going to call him and tell him that you are here."

Sherlock turned his back at his brother and continued to look outside. "Did you know that those two drivers have an affair with each other?"

Mycroft hit the speed dial. "Yes. Sherlock, I'm dialing." He stared at his phone for a second when he realized that it read 'Captain Sidekick' instead of the usual 'John Watson'.

The younger Holmes played with the curtain. "Why would I care about that?"

"It's ringing, Sherlock!"

The younger man turned around with a sullen look on his face. "Fine. I'll go. Is that really the way you want to treat your brother?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Stop acting like a teenager, will you?"

Sherlock broke into a grin. He waved at his brother and left his office.

Mycroft had to chuckle. He quickly suppressed it when John answered his phone.

John was sitting with his back to the door when Sherlock entered Bakerstreet. Sherlock considered the possibility of sneaking past the doctor into his room.

"Do you want some tea Sherlock?"

"How did you know I was here? I made no sound."

John smiled. "There's a mirror, Sherlock, opposite of you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat down next to John. He took the offered cup of tea and eyed his friend warily.

"Where have you been?"

Sherlock decided not to answer, instead he sipped his tea.

"Mycroft called." John looked at Sherlock intently.

Sherlock put his cup back in its saucer and ran his hand through his hair. "So? He calls you all the time."

John had to suppress a smile. "He said you followed him around since breakfast. And you slipped through security, messed with his office and, apparently, changed all the names of his contacts."

Sherlock played with one of his black locks while he drummed the rhythm of Vivaldi's spring. "I can't believe he called you. I left. That was all he wanted, and he still called you!"

John grinned. "You really have nothing to do, don't you?"

"What is it this time?" Sherlock sighted and glared at John. "My phone? My laptop? Go to your room, Sherlock?" He got up and started pacing through the room, occasionally picking small items up only to place them somewhere entirely different.

John watched him for a short time, figuring that he'd better speak up soon before Sherlock managed to redecorate the whole room. He had already stacked a letter opener upon a pear upon a group of chess pieces and the whole construction looked unstable. "No, not this time."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and frowned at John. "Something new?"

"No." John had to laugh at Sherlock's obvious confusion.

"What then?"

"Nothing." John could see that Sherlock was nearly bursting with need to know. "Come on Sherlock, it's sibling rivalry. You can annoy your brother as much as you want as far as I'm concerned."

Sherlock sat down again. "I don't understand." It was clear how difficult those words were for him.

John smiled. "Sherlock, you are not supposed to break any laws as you did by entering the Yard. You are not supposed to annoy Lestrade, because he just might cut of your access to cases. Of course you are not supposed to use items that belong to someone else without asking. You should have learned that as a child, but obviously you either didn't or choose to ignore it." John could see that his speech made Sherlock uncomfortable. "However, rules can be bent when it concerns the interaction between siblings. And hell, it's Mycroft. I don't know how often he kidnapped me in the past. Annoy him all you want."

Sherlock slowly grinned and reached for his tea. "So I'm not in trouble."

"No, Sherlock you are not." John smiled at him. "However, call me Captain Sidekick once more and I'm going to show you what this Captain Sidekick will do to you, understood?"

**A/N.:** So, I hope you liked that chapter. If you did, please leave me a review, I appreciate them. If you didn't like the chapter, send me a review telling me what went wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Give me your laptop!"

"What? No. Sherlock, I'm working."

"Yes, yes I understand you need that hobby of yours but you can't really call it work, now can you? Hand it over!"

John looked up and rolled his eyes. "No. What's wrong with yours? Is it upstairs again?"

"No, but it isn't really functional at the moment."

John frowned. He'd seen Sherlock type away at his laptop a mere half an hour ago. "What did you do?"

"You always assume that it was I who did something!" Sherlock looked indignant and flopped down on the sofa. "It is a technical device John, they break. It's what they are supposed to do after some time, how else would the manufacturer ever make any profit." He raised an eyebrow. "Really, I would think you'd at least grasp that basic economic concept."

John's curiosity awoke. Sherlock was steering from the original subject, and that meant one thing: He'd done something he wasn't comfortable admitting to John. "So If I went upstairs and got your laptop I would find it functionless on your desk without you having done something to it?"

Sherlock crossed his arms and stared at him. "Yes!" He looked like a child that was about to be busted for something and John found it worth to investigate.

John got up and made his way upstairs. Sure enough the laptop was on Sherlock's desk and its malfunction might even be described as a mechanical failure. However it was most certainly Sherlock induced. The laptop looked like it had been thrown out of the window, at least twice. John carefully plucked a rose twig out of the device. If he didn't already do it, Mrs. Hudson would most likely kill Sherlock (or refuse to bring biscuits with the tea) when she found out what had happened to her beloved flowers.

John shook his head, he'd been living with Sherlock for a while now and he still couldn't understand how the consulting detective had so little respect for the items in his possession, or for that fact, in anyone's possession.

John was on his way to go and scold Sherlock for lying to him when he heard a loud crash. He went white as a ghost when realization hit him and he ran downstairs, right in time to see Sherlock staring out of the window. "What the hell did you do?"

Sherlock swirled around, his blue robe billowing behind him. He tried to look innocent but it really didn't work well.

John roughly pushed him aside and stared out of the window. His laptop was lying in the midst of Mrs. Hudson's tulips. The device looked very broken, judging by the weird angle of the display. The doctor breathed hard, trying to quell his rising anger. He turned to Sherlock and looked at him murderously.

Sherlock put his hands up defensively and stepped back. "Don't worry; look I removed the hard drive first." He held the hard drive up and smiled lopsidedly. "See? It is unharmed, and it's not like we can't buy a new laptop. I really had to know how much the shell helps to keep the components inside safe." He held the hard drive up. "Then anyway, I doubt you had something important on there, last time I checked there was hardly anything else than nak…"

He was rudely interrupted when John snatched the hard drive back and put it on the table. His eyes glowed furiously and Sherlock took one step back, regarding John carefully. "What?"

John kept breathing to calm himself down. Sherlock had that uncanny ability of pushing him right past the last remnants of his patience.

Sherlock started fidgeting. He had never been good at dealing with something hanging over his head, something he couldn't quite identify. He knew that John was angry and that some kind of disciplinary measure would follow, that was quite obvious. But he couldn't tell what John was going to do and that irked him. He hated not knowing.

"Get in the corner!"

"What? No!"

"I mean it Sherlock, get in the corner."

"You can't do that to me. I am an adult for god's sake, not a little child."

John actually had to laugh. "Then stop behaving like one, god dammit. Do I have to march you over there?"

Sherlock looked at him defiantly. John sighed and decided to act. He grabbed his upper arm and marched him right in the corner; Sherlock's resistance was no match for the former army doctor. "Now, I want you to think about what you have done. You cannot simply take what you want if it isn't yours. I still have hope to get that into your thick skull."

"You have no right to treat me this way!" Sherlock told the wall.

John smiled, sat down and poured himself some tea. "I don't want to hear a word from you."

Sherlock hadn't been inspecting the wall for more than ten minutes before they could hear Mrs. Hudson approaching.

"Boys? Do you know what happened to my flowers? It looks like an elephant horde has trampled over them while I was out buying groceries and…" She stopped midsentence when she entered the flat. "John?"

John turned to the consulting detective. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at the wall. "Mrs. Hudson."

John growled silently.

"What?" Sherlock still stared at the wall. "I thought we were just calling names."

"Right you were. Do you want me to confiscate your phone too?"

Sherlock huffed. "I dropped a laptop on your flowers Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry." It sounded much rehearsed but Mrs. Hudson seemed content with the explanation.

**A/N.:** So, I hope you liked it. If you did, please leave me a review, they keep me going and they make me really happy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

DI Lestrade was enjoying his lunch break. It was a calm day, they had no cases to work and he was thankful for the break. He had solved the last case on his own; a certain consulting detective had claimed that it was too boring for him to get involved. He obviously had preferred to bother John instead; it had taken Lestrade quite a long time to solve the murder case on his own and he was happy that the culprit was behind bars.

The door to his office was forcefully opened and Lestrade immediately removed his legs from the table. "What are you doing here?" Judging by the faces of Sally Donavan and Anderson his peaceful lunch break was over.

"Do you know what the freak did this time?" Sally was pacing in front of his desk, hands in her pockets with a murderous look in her eyes.

Lestrade frowned. "Do I even want to?"

"He broke into my office. I can buy a new lock thanks to him! Do you know what he did then? He took every single case file I had in there and sorted them. Do you know which ones he put on top? The ones where, according to him, the most incompetent and idiotic decisions have been made."

Lestrade hid a smile behind his hand. The consulting detective had an uncanny ability of putting sergeant Donavan off.

"He did the same in my office!" Anderson's face was red of anger. "And do you know what was on top of my stack? My official appointment as forensic scientist! He left a note on my desk telling me that even Captain Sidekick could have done a better job than me! Who's Captain Sidekick anyway?"

Lestrade breathed deeply. He fished his mobile out of his pocket and hit speed dial. "I'd say it is time to call Captain Sidekick."

Sherlock heard John's mobile ring. He heard him answer. He heard him yell: "He did what?" An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach and he considered jumping out of the window but then John stormed into his room, closing the door with a loud bang. The consulting detective looked up from his magazine. "Yes?"

"That was Lestrade." John had the phone in his hand and was biting his lower lip. Sherlock flinched; it was one of the few signs that John was seriously angry.

"What did he want? Is there a case?"

"Cut the crap Sherlock, you know exactly why he called me. Do you care to explain to me why Lestrade calls me Captain Sidekick?"

Sherlock couldn't hide the grin. "No."

"You don't care or you don't want to?"

"I don't want to." The consulting detective hadn't forgotten John's threat about the use of that particular name. Sherlock put the book down and got up; he towered above John Watson. A different man might have been intimidated but not the army doctor.

John took a step forward and invaded Sherlock's privacy. "What the hell were you thinking this time?"

Sherlock considered his options and decided to go with the truth. "I was bored, obviously."

"You didn't need to be. You could have gone out with Lestrade to solve that murder case of his, but instead you decide that you'd rather cause trouble? How did you even get into the Yard? I thought their security guards were given specific instructions regarding you."

"They did. However they had a rather large delivery of doughnuts today. They do not check their delivery guys very carefully when they are excited about an unhealthy dose of sugar." Sherlock picked the violin up from his bed and played with the strings.

"No melody." John smiled inwardly. Sherlock could never focus on a melody when he was nervous. Good. John wanted him to be nervous. "Lestrade was very adamant about never seeing you again near his people." That might have been slightly exaggerated but it would serve to get the point across.

Sherlock reacted accordingly. "What? Why? I didn't say anything about Lestrade. He can't do that! Does he want me to go insane? Doesn't he realize how much he owes to me? Without me he would still be a sergeant and not a DI."

John held his hand up and Sherlock stopped rambling. "However I managed to convince him that this would not be a good idea. Instead you have to do something else."

Thoughts raced through Sherlock's mind. What would he have to do? Go to his room? Give up his phone? Stand in the corner? He couldn't stand not knowing for one more second. "What?" He eyed John suspiciously, wondering if the good doctor had come up with a new form to torture him.

John relayed what he had agreed upon with Lestrade. Sherlock went white as a sheet.

"No. John, you can't expect me to do that. Do you realize what this means? No!" He crossed his arms and stared at his friend defiantly. "No way."

John smiled. "Do you want to never set foot into the Yard again?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Do you want to never work a police case again?"

Sherlock looked at the floor and shook his head very slowly.

"Than do it!"

Sherlock breathed deeply for a few seconds. "Fine."

John handed him his phone, the number already dialed.

Sherlock held the phone between two fingers, looking at it with absolute disgust. "You are sure that there is no other way?"

John simply nodded.

Sherlock glared at him and hit the dial button. "Anderson? This is Sherlock Holmes. I wanted to tell you that.." He looked at John.

John nodded gravely.

Sherlock resisted the urge to throw the phone either at his friend or out of the window. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry!" He immediately disconnected the call and threw the phone on his bed. "Are you happy now?"

In the meantime John had picked up the magazine Sherlock had been reading. He whacked Sherlock over the head with it.

Sherlock jumped back. "What was that for? I made the call!"

John smiled. "That was for using Captain Sidekick again. I warned you about that. Now call Sergeant Donavan."

**A/N.:** Thank you for the reviews, they made me very happy and I already replied to them personally. Anyway, tell me what you think. Keep up the good work guys


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sherlock entered Bakerstreet and dropped his books on the coffee table.

John looked up from his laptop. "Jesus… Sherlock, what the hell did you get into this time?"

Sherlock frowned. "I went to the library to get some books. Reading, John, I'm sure that you are familiar with the concept. If you aren't I suggest that you take one of these and start reading, it might help you broaden your horizon."

John huffed. "That's not what I meant."

"How am I supposed to know what you are talking about? Am I to be accused for choosing the most obvious thing? Really John, try to be a little more specific."

"You want specific?" John arched an eyebrow. "Sherlock, you idiot, you have a broken nose and blood streaming down your face."

Sherlock stared back. "Oh."

John fished for his medical kit and started to clean Sherlock's face up; the consulting detective didn't make it easy by fidgeting.

They were comfortably seated in their chairs a few minutes later with Sherlock pressing an ice bag against his face.

"Tell me what happened!" John tapped his fingers impatiently on his chair, a habit he'd picked up around Sherlock.

"Lestrade wanted to discuss a case with me so I went to the Yard. Anderson caught me in the lobby; apparently he was still unhappy about last week." Sherlock's voice was muffled behind the ice pack.

"So he broke your nose? Without any provocation?" John leant forward to study the consulting detective. With Sherlock he could never tell if the detective had actively provoked someone or if he'd just been himself and that had been enough.

Sherlock shrugged. He put the ice pack on the coffee table and looked at John. "I didn't even talk to him. He saw me, came over and… well." He gestured at his nose.

John saw confusion in Sherlock's green eyes. It wasn't uncommon; Sherlock didn't understand human emotions very well. Still, Sherlock had apologized however sincere, and Andersons response was not appropriate. He got up and reached for his jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"Out!" He was nearly out the door when Sherlock called him back.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't do anything wrong."

John had to smile. Sherlock looked ridiculous squinting at John around the ice bag. "I know."

Sherlock went to the kitchen a short while later to renew the ice bag when his phone rang.

Sherlock entered the Yard cautiously. Lestrade waited for him in the lobby, partially because wanted to make sure that no fist fight would break out. "Where is John? You said he was here?"

Lestrade nodded and led Sherlock past the security guard. The inspector had threatened the security guards with bodily harm should they ever let Sherlock into the Yard without a senior official accompanying him. Sherlock uneasily noticed that they were on their way down to the cells. They passed Anderson on their way, the forensic technician shot them looks that could kill and Sherlock was pretty sure that he saw some blood on his face. "I didn't hit Anderson."

Lestrade smiled. "I know. Don't worry."

Sherlock recognized the cell in front of them as the one he had had to stay in before until John bailed him out. Now, however, the roles seemed reversed.

John stared at the two men in front of him.

Sherlock stared right back.

Lestrade tried not to laugh.

Naturally, Sherlock's brain put the pieces together within seconds. "You punched Anderson? Why would you do that?"

John rolled his eyes. "Just bail me out okay?"

They left the cab right outside Bakerstreet. Neither one of them had said a word since their departure from the Yard. Sherlock turned to John. "So… you punched Anderson."

John growled.

"Why'd you do that?"

"I went to talk to Anderson; he had no right to punch you. I told him that and he said… well, let's just say I was provoked." Anderson had a surprisingly colorful language and he apparently knew how to swear in at least four languages.

"Does that mean I can send you to your room now?" Sherlock's eyes were dancing with silent laughter.

John laughed. "Yeah right. You hungry?"

"Chinese?"

**A/N.:** So, I hope you liked the chapter. I'm looking forward to reading your reviews!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Did you know that the number 'One' is the only number whose letters are according to the reverse alphabetical order?"

John dropped the newspaper. "What?"

"It really is!" Sherlock was positively excited. "The letters in 'Fourty' are in alphabetical order."

"What's with this sudden obsession with numbers?" John poured them some tea and handed Sherlock a cup.

Sherlock shrugged, accepted the cup and kept pacing. "Numbers are fascinating, don't you think?"

John eyed him skeptically. "You are excited about something! What did you do?" Sherlock had been brooding the whole day and made John's life miserable with dozens of degrading comments on everything his flat mate did. As less as John enjoyed that, there was always something wrong when Sherlock was that happy.

"I did nothing!" Sherlock sat down on the chair, pulled his legs close and rested his chin on his knees.

John was nearly convinced, but Sherlock grinned and the doctor stomach churned. "Sherlock?"

"Why do you always have to assume something terrible happened? I understand that you are not very busy at the moment, and that you have to compensate for being unemployed but do you really think that searching for something I might have done wrong is the right way to go?"

John laughed. Sherlock was a genius at guilt tripping John, but right now he wasn't even trying. "Sherlock, I'm only going to ask once more… what did you do?"

Sherlock's eyes sparkled. "I…"

He was interrupted by a loud 'bang'! John nearly jumped out of his seat while Sherlock remained completely unfazed. The 'bang' was followed by a loud and angry yell.

"Oh for god's sake Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson?" John was out of his seat within seconds. "Come on!"

Sherlock remained seated and shot John a 'sad-puppy' look. "Why?"

"I had it with you!" John marched over to Sherlock, grabbed his arm and dragged him down to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock complaining the whole way.

Mrs. Hudson flew at them immediately when they entered the flat. She managed to hit Sherlock in the chest before John caught the hands of a very irate landlady. "What did he do Mrs. Hudson?"

The delicate landlady turned her gaze at John and it immediately softened. "Oh John!" She leaned heavily at him. "I overlook his experiments in your kitchen, the holes in the wall, the dead animal and body parts in the fridge, I really do. But this is too much! Simply, too much!"

John held Mrs. Hudson close and waited until she calmed down a little bit. "What did he do, Mrs. Hudson?" He had to smile inwardly; he'd never said those words that often before living with Sherlock.

"I don't even know", Mrs. Hudson sobbed. John checked her discretely; at least physically there was nothing wrong with her. She was just shaken by whatever Sherlock had done. "When I came in something was boiling, I thought I forgot something and went to turn it off and then it just exploded all over the place!"

They both turned to Sherlock who was scratching a gooie green substance from the wall. "It was an experiment."

John remembered a conversation he had with Mycroft. The older Holmes had told him about the many experiments Sherlock had conducted as a child. Apparently it had ended with explosions more often than not. "What was it?" He carefully removed a little bit of the substance out of Mrs. Hudson's hair.

"Apparently mint is not as thermo stable as I thought," Sherlock answered absentmindedly. He pocketed some of the green substance and tried to leave but John blocked the way.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Sherlock frowned. "Back upstairs? We live there, remember? If you hadn't forced me down here we wouldn't have to walk back up again. Think about that the next time."

John sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Clean it up!"

"Why?"

Once again John was amazed by his flat mate. Sherlock's question was completely honest and it surprised John how someone could be so terrible bad at understanding social conventions. "Mrs. Hudson's kitchen is a mess and it's your fault so go and clean it up. Why did you have to do it here anyway? We have a kitchen."

"Did you see our kitchen? It is full with other experiments and instruments, there is no room there. And no! I am not going to clean this up! I am the one with the brilliant mind; my time is better spent doing anything else. You are the mediocre one, why don't you clean it up?" Sherlock stared at John and they found themselves in their battle of wills.

As usual John won and Sherlock found himself cleaning the kitchen.

**A/N.:** Sorry that it took so long, exams kept me pretty busy. Keep your fingers crossed for me, I have four major exams coming in the next two weeks and I really have to pass them. Anyway, I hope that you liked this chapter, and if you did please send me a review, they make me very happy! Thanks a lot guys!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Barts was not only a world class medical institution but also a widely known and respected research facility. The research personal was highly trained and effective but every once in a while something happened that could count as a mistake or lapse of judgment. Without obvious reason, however, those incidents suddenly occurred a lot more often. At first, someone found a dead mouse in a sterile bottle of cultural media, afterwards multiple occasions of misplaced objects occurred and finally some seriously manipulated microscope samples. A young intern actually shrieked when a worm wiggled under the microscope, especially since she was supposed to see nothing but dead cells.

Sherlock might even have gotten away with it hadn't it been for Stamford and his regular drinking outings with John. Stamford had suggested that it was a prank war between two new interns, but John had immediately connected a very bored consulting detective to the incidents.

John had learned one thing during the last few months. For him it was comparably easy to connect Sherlock to some of the idiotic stunts the detective pulled, the real difficulty was proving it. There was something though, Sherlock hated not being acknowledged for whatever he did and that stupid childish pride would be his downfall.

Sherlock entered the flat in a surprisingly good mood and John didn't even want to know what made him so happy. The consulting detective put his cloak on the chair, smiled at John and made himself tea.

"Are you writing your blog again? Do you really think people read that? I didn't want to say anything before but honestly, your grammar needs improvement."

John smiled to himself, with Sherlock it was easy: the snarkier the happier. "I have a mystery for you."

Sherlock's eyes glinted. He pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. "You do realise that what counts as a mystery for you is nothing more than slightly entertaining, at best, for me?"

"Stamford told me that they found a dead mouse in a supposedly sterile bottle of culture media, how do you think that happened?"

"Really? That's a mystery for you? Come on, even a child could solve that."

"Enlighten me."

"Fine." Sherlock stretched. "You know the collar around the bottle neck that ensures sterility? If you heat the bottle up the collar will simply fall off. You can open the bottle, put something in, put the collar back and cool it down. No one will ever know." He was obviously very proud.

"Hm… What about the misplaced items?"

"Oh for gods' sake, it is not difficult to sneak into Barts at night. The security is barely existent; you can easily bypass the overweight security guard. All you need to enter the laboratory is a key card and everyone who works there has one."

"So do you."

"Yes. What's your point? Are you insinuating that I did it?"

John put his cup back in the saucer. "No, of course not. You said it yourself, it is hardly a mystery, and you are above petty distractions like that."

Sherlock fidgeted. "I think these incidents display a high amount of creativity and ingenuity."

John had to bite his tongue in order not to laugh. He shrugged. "No I don't think so. I think they are the action of a bored, immature and childish person."

Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I will let you know that it was not as easy to break into the laboratory at night as you think."

"And how would you know that?" John put his newspaper down and smiled like a predator that caught the victim he'd been looking for.

Sherlock seemed unfazed. "I can only assume."

John snorted. "Yeah right. It might be amusement to you but those poor interns you torment are seriously disturbed in their research. I can barely tolerate it when you get me in trouble let alone others."

"And you were never one for petty distractions?" Sherlock pouted.

"Of course I was, when I was six years old. Bloody hell Sherlock, will you finally grow up?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "No."

"No?"

"I am fully grown. Therefore I can no longer grow up. Language, John, I know it sounds complicated but it's worth a try."

John exhaled slowly. "I had enough of you for today."

"So what? Are you going to send me to my room again? Confiscate my phone? What?"

It was amazing how much Sherlock resembled a young chastised child.

"Today I'm going to give you a choice. You can either go to your room and stay there," he stressed 'stay' remembering what happened the last time when he send Sherlock to his room. "Or I will cancel your TV subscription."

Sherlock's eyes grew big. "What? No, you can't do that!" Sherlock had found a new guilty pleasure since that misfortunate encounter with crap telly.

"Then go to your room! Do I have to count to three?"

"No. I'm not a child, I am a responsible adult!"

John laughed outright and raised a finger. "One!"

Sherlock stared back.

"Two."

A few seconds passed slowly before Sherlock gave up. John was not surprised at all that the consulting detective choose to go to his room, it was surprising how much he had come to love those talk shows when he had nothing better to do.

**A/N.:** So, I know it took a long time but here is the next chapter. I hope you like it. Please leave me a review if you did, I'm looking forward to reading them.

Enormous thanks to those who reviewed: Prothoe, The mad squirrel, ShiverandShamy, Nostalgic Beauty, ImaniSechelles, and JuweWright


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Lestrade sat in the van, listening to the conversation of two men, suspected of murdering a Scotland Yard agent. Van duty was extremely boring especially when the criminals had nothing better to talk about than cooking and their wives sleeping habits.

"Why must I be here?" Lestrade was stuck in the van with a whiney Anderson and Sgt. Donavan, both not the best companions. It was one of the rare times when he wished for Sherlock to be there with them. He would drive Anderson insane and that was usually entertaining.

"You must be here in case we have to move in and we need a forensic expert to preserve any evidence there might be." Lestrade had explained that at least four times but Anderson never really stopped complaining.

"Can I go and get coffee? I'm dying here!"

Lestrade looked at Sally and shook his head. "No!"

Someone knocked on the door of the van and the three flinched simultaneously. They shared a few quick glances. Lestrade slowly opened the door of their surveillance van.

A young adolescent stood before them with three cups of coffee on his tray. He went pale when he discovered the gun Lestrade had trailed at him. "I was told to deliver those to you!"

Lestrade snatched the coffees, threw the kid a dirty look and closed the door with a slam.

The delivery boy knocked silently and Lestrade debated with himself if he was within his rights to shoot the kid.

"I'm not going anywhere before you pay me!" The voice was muffled by the door and Lestrade exhaled slowly in order not to lose his temper. He requisitioned Andersons wallet with the help of an evil glare and paid the coffee delivery boy as quickly as possible.

Lestrade wanted to call Sherlock immediately, no one else would do something as crazy as that and he had no doubts that Sherlock knew exactly where they parked their surveillance van. The only thing holding him back was that the coffee was damn good and it shut Anderson up for the next five minutes. Someone knocked at the door, again.

The detective cursed loudly and opened the door again, ready to send whoever it was to hell. The sight that greeted him shut him up before he could say anything.

"Hey there." A beautiful, thin, scarcely closed woman leaned against the now open door. She twirled her handbag and shot him a lascivious smile. She took one look at Lestrades gun and her smile grew. "Are you the bad cop? Is he the good cop then?" She winked at Anderson who turned as red as a tomato and muttered something unintelligible.

"You!" Lestrade pointed at Anderson. "Sit. Shut up. You!" He glanced at the woman. "Leave. Now." He tried to shut the door but the woman managed to wedge her purse between the car frame and the door. "I was promised payment!"

Lestrade was impressed by the purse; it looked like it was made out of steel. He carefully pushed the fashion accessory away. "Who promised you the money?"

"The guy on the phone said that you would pay me for my trouble."

"And did the guy on the phone give you a name?" This time Lestrade used his own money, he had every intention of holding Sherlock accountable later.

The woman took the money and smiled. "He said he was called Captain Sidekick. I can show you his number if you want?"

Surprisingly enough the number belonged to John Watson. But John wasn't the type to do something so… immature. The woman distracted Lestrade from his thoughts. "Are you sure that I cannot do something for you in return?" She put her hand on Lestrades chest and slowly moved it down.

Lestrade caught the hand and pushed the woman away, this time he managed to close the door before she could do anything.

"Do you want to call it a night? I don't think that anything is going to happen tonight."

Lestrade had to admit that Sally had a point. However someone knocked before he could answer.

The detective opened the door with too much force and nearly knocked the policeman over. "What?"

The policeman pointed his gun at Lestrade. "Step out of the vehicle!"

John had enjoyed a pleasant evening, drinking beer, watching TV. Sherlock was home as well, flopped onto the couch reading obituaries. "Why the hell are you reading those?"

Sherlock shrugged. "People are surprisingly superstitious when it comes to death. They link different statistics together only to assume something completely insane. Statistically speaking most people die in the month following their birthday. Also, trusting in another statistic, most people die in March. Therefore, people whose birthday is in February are extremely prone to death. Seriously, ordinary people are insane."

John had to grin.

"Wait." Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows. "Your birthday is in February, right? Be careful during the next month or you might pass away unexpectedly."

John's phone rang. "Did you see my phone?" The doctor checked all of his pockets without finding anything. He realised that the sound was coming from Sherlocks direction. "Do you have my phone?"

One thing Sherlock had learned over the last few months was not to lie to John, because that didn't work. He threw the phone over at his flat mate. "You should try and live a few days without your phone, you are overly attached to it!"

John frowned and answered the call. "It's John. Yes. No. What? Wait, slow down, Lestrade, slow down! No, of course I didn't. What? No way? No he was home the entire evening. Yes he had my phone. Oh god. Yeah, I'm going to talk to him, don't worry."

If possible Sherlock had sunk even further into the couch.

John put the phone down and cleared his throat. "Are you insane, Sherlock?"

"The line between pure genius and insanity is blurred, don't you know that?" Sherlock waved at him with his obituaries.

John's lips were twitching but he managed not to show his amusements. The image of Lestrade, poor honest, straight forward Lestrade being confronted by a hooker was priceless and he would have given a lot to see pictures of it. "You used my phone!"

Sherlock's eyes grew bigger in surprise. "That's what you have to say? No 'don't interfere with official police work', no 'don't antagonize Lestrade'?"

"I have a sense of humor!" John pointed out.

Sherlock huffed. "Yeah, right."

"You sent them coffee, you called a hooker upon them, you called the police and left an anonymous tip that they were preparing to kidnap someone?"

Sherlock sat up eagerly. "How did he react?"

John sat up straight and pointed at his flat mate. "Don't push it. What have I told you about using 'Captain Sidekick'? Didn't we establish that the name was not to be used again?

Sherlock had the decency of looking slightly ashamed. A few seconds passed before he spoke. "Before you figure out another evil and unnecessarily torturing punishment for me, consider that it is early March."

"So?"

"You might die soon if you overstress yourself!" Sherlock looked at him seriously. "Statistics don't lie, I'm sure you know that."

"Don't worry Sherlock, I already know how to punish you and you and it didn't kill me yet."

Sherlock eyed John carefully.

The next time Lestrade had to undergo a stake out Sherlock was there with them in the surveillance van. He had to smile while watching his favorite consulting detective's face. He had been informed by John that Sherlock was not allowed to say anything that wasn't directly related to the stake out. Anderson seemed to love it.

Sherlock was sulking through the whole night.

**A/N.:** So hi guys, here's another one. I hope you like it! I'm looking forward to your reviews.

Huge thanks to **ImaniSechelles**, **The Mad Squirrel**, **Tipear**, **Nostalgic Beauty**, **Prothoe**, **high-functioning potterhead**, **HistoryLights**, **JuneWright**

As usual, reviews are responded to using private messages.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**March, 10th, 7:59 AM**

All was well, quiet and peaceful at 221B Bakerstreet. John was sound asleep, unaware of the fate that was about to befall him. The doctor had come home late after an evening of heavy drinking and sharing old stories with Stamford, knowing fully well that he could sleep in.

**8:00 AM.**

John snatched the alarm clock and threw it against the closet. The device disbanded into thousand small parts shattering all over the floor. The doctor sat up and sleepily rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his calendar from his nightstand and frantically searched for today's date. He finally found the correct page and relaxed immediately, there were no entries for today. John scratched his head. Why would he set his alarm clock if… The doctor looked to the sad remnants of the affronting device. That was not his alarm clock.

It had taken him a lot longer than usually, thanks to being woken from a state of deep sleep, to realise that he didn't even own an alarm clock, he always used his phone. John knew that Sherlock had something to do with the ownerless alarm clock in his room but he was way too tired to go and confront the consulting detective. He just turned around and fell asleep within seconds.

**March 11th, 8:00**

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"What?" John shouted the word before he was completely awake. He forced himself to open his eyes and stared at a hideous lilac alarm clock that looked as if it was stolen from the last century. The doctor sat up straight, all tiredness forgotten. "SHERLOCK!" He bolted out of his room and was about to open his flat mates door forcefully when it was opened. John nearly stumbled into the room.

"What is it John? Do you know how early it is?" Sherlock looked at him wearily, green eyes clouded, his hair sticking out in odd angles. "Don't tell me you just came home. Have you considered going into therapy? Being out that late every evening is not good for your health, especially if you are drinking."

John's eyes narrowed and he held the lilac alarm clock right before Sherlocks face. "I know you have something to do with that!"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Whatever you imply I did, I can assure you I would not have used something as distasteful as that."

John sighed deeply, gave up and went straight back to bed.

**March 12th 8:00**

The loud ear-piercing beeping of yet another alarm clock woke him this time. The doctor had tried to stay awake during the night to catch Sherlock in the act of placing the alarm clock on his nightstand but he'd fallen asleep some when around 3 in the morning. John hit the button on top of the simple alarm clock and stretched. Sherlock must have entered his room after three, meaning that he couldn't have slept a lot since then and would most likely be deeply asleep. John tiptoed out of his room to surprise his flat mate during his sleep, maybe he would be a little less on guard if woken up suddenly.

"Good morning John. Where are you sneaking off to this fine morning?" Sherlock Holmes sat at the table and poured himself some coffee. "Do you want some coffee? I made coffee! It's delicious, you should try some!"

"And you already drank some," added John in thought, hyperactive Sherlock was even more difficult to deal with than the comparably normal one. Coffee was Sherlock's new drug of choice if bored and it was amazing how unhappy he got if someone messed with his favorite drink. "Did you put this on my nightstand?"

Sherlock eyed the alarm clock uncertainly. "No. Why would I do that? You are always up so early, why would I feel the need to remind you of the time? Since you're up anyway, would you mind buying groceries today?" Sherlocks fingers were drumming on the table and John felt a headache coming.

March 13th, 14th and 15th all brought a new alarm clock and John had been fruitless in his pursuit of catching Sherlock. The doctor had absolutely no clue as to why the consulting detective felt such a strong need to wake John in the morning. It was difficult enough to discover Sherlocks motifs without the detective in the flat but Sherlock hadn't left Bakerstreet the last couple of days and John felt as if he was constantly watched. Finally Molly called Sherlock to come to Barts morgue to look at a body and John had the apartment to himself.

The doctor immediately entered Sherlock's room to search for something that would incriminate his flat mate and he found it surprisingly quickly. Sherlock had obviously been in a hurry to leave because he left the small leather bound journal on his bed. John sat down, opened the book and began to read.

**March 10th**: Subject is confused and agitated after waking up, likely to react violent  
><strong>March 11th<strong>: Suspect searches for someone to blame for waking up early, alarm clock doesn't seem sufficient  
><strong>March 12th<strong>: Suspect sneaks through flat, doesn't notice that his coffee contains high dose of sugar  
><strong>March 13th<strong>: Suspects yells profanities  
><strong>March 14th<strong>: Suspect fell out of bed, entangled in sheets  
><strong>March 15th<strong>: Suspect suspects

John put the book down and ran his hand through his hair. Sherlock choose that moment to return to the flat and had the good graces to look slightly sheepish after discovering John with the journal.

John got up immediately, grabbed Sherlock's arm and walked him to the couch. Sherlock looked like he would rather run away. The doctor sat his friend down and stared at him angrily. "What did we agree on after the Baskerville case?"

Sherlock looked at the floor and then back at John. "I shall not put sugar in your coffee."

"No. Yes. I mean, that's not what I mean and you know that!"

Sherlock played with the blanket next to him. "I shall not break into government facilities because it makes Mycroft mad."

John rolled his eyes. "True. But that's still not the most important thing!"

"I beg to differ. I am sure that Mycroft would agree with me when questioned about the importance of that rule."

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock cringed as John used '_that'_ tone. "Fine. We agreed that I would never use you for an experiment again." The consulting detective crossed his arms over his chest and regarded John with a sullen look.

"Stop sulking Sherlock!" John sat down opposite of his flat mate. "What do you call that?" He threw the journal over to Sherlock.

"Scientific research?"

"Sherlock…"

"A diary?"

"I'm going to count to three. One…"

"Something I sleep-wrote?"

"Two…"

"Stop counting! It was an experiment, are you happy now?"

John sighed exasperatedly. "Why?" Sadly enough he already knew what Sherlock would answer.

"Because I was bored. You can't observe your own habits after being woken from deep sleep because you'll already have forgotten your initial reaction once you are capable of writing it down."

The fact that Sherlock's explanation actually made sense was not enough for John to let him off the hook. "No more experiments on me, Sherlock, understood?"

Sherlock eyed him wearily and nodded.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for at least two minutes until Sherlock started fidgeting.

John had to work hard on suppressing a grin. Uncertainty was one of the few things that could bring Sherlock down. "Sherlock."

The consulting detective turned to John. "Yes, John?" He pretended very hard not to be nervous but it really didn't work with John.

"Experimenting on me is a big deal, Sherlock; you can't do that again, ever."

Sherlock kept inspecting the air around them.

"Sherlock, friends don't do that to each other."

That got Sherlock's attention. "No they don't, do they," mused the consulting detective. "For all its worth, I'm sorry John."

John had to smile, Sherlock never, ever apologized for anything. This time the silence was a little bit more comfortable. "Are you apologizing to get out of trouble?"

Sherlock had to grin.

"You know what? No more coffee for you!"

"What? No! I will not give up coffee! Do you know how much I depend on that? You are a heartless bastard, John Watson!"

John smirked triumphantly. "That or I'm replacing our coffee with caffeine free coffee, and we both know that you hate caffeine free coffee. I know you Sherlock; you would drink the decaffeinated coffee because you want it to be as effective as regular one, and then you would be even less happy than without coffee."

Sherlock pouted.

**A/N.:** Guys, thank you for your reviews! I'm looking forward to hearing from you again. I hope you can enjoy your summer, it is way too hot where I live, we constantly experience more than 30 degrees and it doesn't even cool down during the night. Anyway, send Reviews, I love them!

Thanks to: **IzzyDelta**, **kookookarli**, **high-functioning potterhead**, **Prothoe, tabbiecat, thetravelinglemon**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

John's stomach churned violently every time his phone rang. No one had complained about Sherlock for the past two weeks and by now John was waiting for a bomb to drop. The consulting detective was tolerable, hadn't criticized John a single time and had even smiled at a joke John made. At the latest that was when John knew that something had to be up. Sherlock was trying far too hard to appear inconspicuous.

His mobile rang again and John immediately felt sick as he glanced at the caller ID. There were three reasons why Mycroft called. He would regularly check up on Sherlock via John, but he had done that only yesterday. Maybe he had a case that needed Sherlock's expertise, but that was to god to hope for and that left the last possible option. Sherlock had done something idiotic at Mycroft's expense.

**3 hours earlier**

"Mr. Holmes? The Italian ambassador is on line three and he sounds pissed."

Mycroft sighed and motioned his secretary to forward the call. He'd received annoyed calls from ambassadors the whole morning; something was seriously wrong. "Mycroft Holmes, how can I help you Mr. Ambassador?"

"Mr. Holmes, is this your idea of a joke?"

Mycroft rubbed his temples tiredly. "Can you tell me what you are referring to?"

"You have the nerve to ask?" yelled the enraged man on the other side of the line. "You break and enter and violate our privacy!" Mycroft held the receiver with two fingers and moved it away from his ear. He wanted to reply but the other end went dead.

Mycroft stretched and cursed silently. This had been going on for far too long; it was time to call John. Maybe he could make sense of the whole situation.

**Ten additional hours earlier**

Sherlock stood in front of the Italian embassy and smiled. It was pitch black as the consultant detective stretched his arms and prepared to break into the building. The security wasn't too tight, especially at night and it didn't take him long to get inside. The Italian embassy was the sixth international building he was hitting tonight. His approach had always been the same.

The consulting detective had used the last two weeks to observe the buildings and the security guards. Evading them after that wasn't too difficult. Sherlock bypassed the electronic safety mechanism with a hairpin, a paper clip and a short piece of copper wire that he had found on the ground two minutes ago.

Sherlock wasn't the only consulting detective for nothing; the light patterns that he observed during his stake outs indicated the movement of the guards inside the building. Sherlock smirked triumphantly as he managed to avoid them all on his way to the ambassador's office. He picked the old fashioned lock within seconds and entered the office.

**Present**

Sherlock came home three hours after the fateful call, looking surprisingly relaxed but tired. He waved pleasantly at John and flopped down on his favorite chair.

John turned to him with badly concealed rage.

Sherlock looked up with caution. "What?"

"Mycroft called."

Sherlock shrugged. "Didn't he call yesterday? Why is he so chatty all of a sudden?"

"Do you realise that you nearly started not one, but a few international incidents?"

Sherlock smirked awfully pleased with himself but refrained from answering.

"Did you seriously leave them one of Mycroft's calling cards and wrote 'Your security is abysmal. Sincerley, the UK Government' on them?"

"I hear that improving security standards is the mission statement of our government and therefore Mycroft's." John didn't think it was possible but Sherlock's smile grew even more

John glared at him. "You can't screw with our government just because you are bored, for god's sake Sherlock; I thought we were over this already!"

Sherlock mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"I wasn't bored," clarified Sherlock.

John's eyebrows rose immediately. "You weren't? Then what the hell was your motivation?"

Sherlock fidgeted, stared alternatively at the floor and the walls and played with the pillow next to him before he answered. "It was payback."

"Payback?"

"Apparently you told Mycroft about everything I was up to those last few weeks, and he made a degrading comment."

John sighed and rubbed his temples. "What did he say?" He hated forcing the words out of his friend but he knew that Sherlock wasn't going to tell him otherwise. It was like dealing with a sullen teenager, extreme caution had to be executed.

"He said, and I'm quoting: 'Your antics are those of a five year old throwing a tantrum." Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted.

"Good lord Sherlock, your response is only strengthening Mycroft's opinion. Why do you have to behave like an idiot when it comes to your brother?" John got up abruptly and rummaged for something in his desk.

Sherlock eyed him cautiously and frowned when John placed a stack of clear paper and a pen in front of him. He arched an eyebrow.

"I want you to write 200 times 'I am not ever supposed to start international incidents', understood?"

Sherlock looked at him as if he was completely insane. "No. We had a rule. I was not to be punished if I messed with Mycroft."

John regarded him sternly. "You can mess with Mycroft but you can't mess with the government and international relations. Is that clear?"

Sherlock nodded sulkily.

"And it wasn't a rule; it was a courtesy I extended to you once! Now write!"

Sherlock was half way through his lines a little while later when he looked up. "This is ridiculous. I don't have to do anything you tell me to." He put the pen down and stared at his roommate defiantly.

John smiled tiredly. "And yet you always do it anyway. Think about that."

Sherlock huffed and picked the pen back up. He finished writing his lines and threw the stack of papers at John before disappearing into his room.

John stared at the paper for a few minutes and grinned. Sherlock had a very neat script and the few letters that differed from it stuck out clearly. John read the different letters one after another and grinned. It wrote 'Slave driver'.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**.: Thank you guys so much for your reviews, they mean the world to me. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions.

Thank yous to all of those who reviewed: **Indy**, **Nostalgic Beauty** and **Prothoe**

**Indy**: I wish you would have left me a way to respond to your review, maybe you could still do that? I tried to change everything you suggested and I think it's slightly better now. Thank you for the criticism, how else am I supposed to get better at what I do, right?


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

John entered the quaint little café opposite of 221B Bakerstreet. He spotted Mycroft's thinning hair in the middle of the crowd and sat down next to the elder Holmes. "I really appreciate not being hauled away by some beautiful woman this time."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow with uncanny perfection. "I can't really abduct you and bring you to your own meeting." He sipped his coffee and managed the most disgustedly polite look possible.

John frowned. "My meeting?"

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly and John groaned. "He didn't. Why would he…"

Mycroft slowly rubbed his temples. He was about to answer when he noticed a new expression in John's face. He followed John's gaze and groaned.

Lestrade saw the two men, waved and made his way over to their table. He nodded at Mycroft and shook John's hand. "What did you want to talk about? I hope it doesn't take too long, it's a pretty busy day."

John's face lit up and Mycroft scowled. John's thoughts were so openly portrayed on his face. "Do you have a case that might interest Sherlock? Please tell me you do, we have to do something about him."

Lestrade shook his head. "It's nothing that would interest Sherlock. There are some international police officers in town for a seminar about enhanced cooperation. Something about databases. They get a tour through the Yard today and everyone is a little bit concerned about it going smoothly."

John and Mycroft shared a quick look. "Sherlock set this up."

Mycroft nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's a group of foreign dignities being shown through Buckingham Palace. John, this is no coincidence."

_**Meanwhile at the Yard**_

A young detective was leading the tour through the Yard. The sheer amount of high ranking officers behind him made him nervous, he was constantly wiping his hands on his trousers and sweat was clearly visibly on his forehead. "If you enter here you'll see our media room, equipped with the most modern items available."

The foreign officers entered the room before the young detective. It was their last stop and the detective was slowly starting to relax. Everything seemed to go according to plan.

"Are you sure you led us into the right room?"

"Does everyone's office look like that?"

The young detective made his way through the other officers and froze. What should be the media center looked remarkably like a government office.

_**Roughly the same time at Buckingham Palace**_

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I know there are dozens of rumors concerning the housing of our Queen's corgis. Let me assure you that you are the first visitors to see their lodging." The man opened the door and waved the guests in.

"The queen actually named one of her dogs DI Lestrade? That's a strange name for a dog."

The government employee couldn't agree more. The question confused him but what really surprised him was the inventory of the room. There was no way at all that corgis needed an office desk, a computer, a nametag (DI Lestrade) and any other equipment necessary for a law enforcement officer. The government employer dialed his superior's number while surveying the room. The police helmet fit the corgi quite well.

**Presently at 221B Bakerstreet**

It took John an hour to calm Mycroft down. Lestrade had been easier; the DI actually had to laugh about Sherlock's stunt, because he hated it when foreign dignities interfered with day to day work life. Mycroft however had been ready to kill Sherlock when he got the call. He was definitely not amused.

"His face turned red, Sherlock. I thought that vein would pop any minute." John stared at Sherlock with his arms crossed.

Sherlock chuckled. "It can't. I dedicated one summer when I was eleven to get it to explode. Trust me, it can't."

John refrained from asking a follow up question, no matter how much he wanted to dig deeper into Sherlock's childhood. Instead he leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. "How did you pull it off?"

"I contacted the Homeless network. People are so easily fooled. No one questions men in uniform when they are set to do something." Sherlock looked unbearably smug.

"You do realise that you can't do something like that just because you are bored."

Sherlock shrugged and played with his hair. He appeared surprisingly calm.

John frowned. "What?"

"What what?"

"Sherlock… what do you want to know?"

"How do you know I want to know something?"

John sighed. "You are far too calm. Now, spill!"

"How did he look?"

"Who?"

"Who do you think? Mycroft."

John laughed and grabbed his phone. "I took a picture." He handed his phone to Sherlock and the younger mans eyes lit up when he saw Mycroft's furious face.

Sherlock gave the phone back and resigned to his predictable fate. "What's it going to be today? Did you find a new way to torture me?"

"I assume that's my responsibility as the slave driver," answered John drily.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You got the message. I am impressed, John. Maybe there's still hope for you left."

"I have a new rule for you Sherlock. The three strike rule. For every major idiocy you'll get one strike. This is the first one!"

Sherlock regarded John warily. "What happens after the third time?"

"You'll see. I wouldn't want to ruin the suspense. I'm sure it's going to happen soon if you keep it up."

Sherlock got up without another word and was on his way to his room when John stopped him. "Where do you think you are going?"

The consulting detective swirled around. "To my room. I thought that was obvious, even for you."

"You are not getting a free pass on this one Sherlock."

Sherlock groaned. He didn't argue, apparently he had already expected that. "What now?"

"Since you enjoy organizing rooms that much, why don't you clean our living room? Seriously, I am amazed how you can find something in this mess."

Sherlock took one look around and sighed. He ransacked his brain for a valid argument, dismissing options like 'it's your living room as well' because John never ever left anything lying around. All he could come up with was: "I don't want to."

John laughed. He remembered Mycroft telling him that Sherlock hated cleaning his room. There had been a maid in the Holmes household who was taking care of the boy's bedrooms, but Sherlock had had to clean his own room since he was five years old and the maid had stumbled upon one of his experiments. Her eyebrows had never looked quite the same after that incident.

* * *

><p><strong>AN.:** And here he strikes again! I'm sorry for the delay but it's summer and everything's a little crazy between work and precious holiday moments. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and I'm looking forward to reading your reviews. I'm really sorry about not answering your last review, as I've said it's been crazy, but I'm pretty sure that I'll get around to answering the reviews sooner or later. Enjoy your summer!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

><p>Entering Bakerstreet brought a certain risk with it. Sherlock had been surprisingly calm and quiet during the last few days but John was relatively sure that his improved behavior had nothing to do with the three strike threat. It felt like the calm before a storm and John didn't like it at all.<p>

"You are early. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out with Stamford?"

John narrowed his eyes and frowned. "What are you up to?" He felt a sense of deja-vu, was it possible that they had this kind of conversation every other day?

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing. I'll be right back." He disappeared into his room, leaving John puzzled and slightly worried.

Something had bothered John since the moment he stepped foot into the flat and he finally identified it. There was a strong chemical smell coming from his bed room. John reached up and rubbed his temples, a gesture he had been repeating a lot during the last few days. He'd been plagued by an evil headache whenever he spent more than a few minutes in the flat. The doctor entered his room and located the source of the smell within seconds. The smell came from his sheets and they appeared a lot lighter than they should have, after closer inspection. John grabbed his sheets and went to Sherlock's room to inquire about them when he saw the consulting detective climbing out of his window.

John grabbed his flat mate at the upper arm and hauled him back inside. He marched Sherlock to the chair and put him there. Sherlock immediately tucked up his legs, rested his chin on his knees and sulked.

John walked back and forth in front of his friend. He waved the sheet in front of Sherlock's face. "What did you do with it?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and said something to his feet. John sighed and threw the sheet at Sherlock. "Will you answer my question or do I have to award you two strikes as a precaution?"

"I bleached it."

"What? Why? The sheets were already white."

"Oh come on John," Sherlock looked up and shot him an angry look. "You really think that one can't bleach white?"

"You're deflecting Sherlock."

The consulting detective tried to get up but John was too quick, he grabbed him at the shoulder and pushed him down. "Why?"

"I think you'd hardly appreciate the stains."

John breathed hard and bit his upper lip. "What stains?"

"Chocolate, Red wine, Swiss cheese and some vanilla pudding." Sherlock shot his friend a dirty look and crossed his arms.

John sighed and took a seat opposite of him. "Why? What reason is there to put those substances on my sheets?"

"I was trying to recreate a certain stain that I saw a few years ago during a case."

John rubbed his temples again. The chemical substance could have been the source of his headaches, but then again the headache had started a few days ago. "Did you do this before?"

"It's not so easy to clean a stain like that. It takes a few times, don't you know that?"

"How come I never noticed the stains? They couldn't be gone by the time you finished your first try."

Sherlock smiled. It was amazing how pleased with himself he was when he was successful with one of his schemes, even if he'd been unsuccessful on the whole. "I turned them inside out. Fascinating that you never noticed." The two men stared at each other for a minute before Sherlock decided to tell the whole story. "I bleached it four times in the last days, always when you left the flat. Usually the smell was long gone when you came back and you'd only suffer a mild headache." Sherlock became silent after his last words, realizing what he just said.

"A mild headache? You knew that? How could you do that to me, you bloody idiot? God, Sherlock, won't you ever learn?"

Sherlock seemed to shrink back into the chair. "You survived Afghanistan, a little headache won't kill you."

John breathed deeply. "Sometimes I wonder if you are trying to get rid of me. Seriously, Sherlock, do you think every once in a while?"

A hint of doubt and insecurity shone in Sherlock's eyes before they returned to their normal state. He kept silent for a minute before he had to ask: "Strike two?"

"You bet."

"Is that all? Will you leave my room now before I have to evict you?"

John chuckled and got up. "You know what? I think I'll put you on laundry duty for the rest of the month. And you'd better start right now with my sheets."

"Fine, whatever!" Sherlock waved at John. "I'll do it later."

John turned around when he reached the door and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Were you thinking about fleeing through the window again?"

Sherlock couldn't help but grin a little. "No."

John held the door open and jerked his head for Sherlock to follow him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN.:** Hey guys, here's another one. My first week of studies is going crazy, I'm not sure if I have any free time between work, classes and writing my bachelor thesis. But hey, that's life As usual, I'm looking forward to reading your reviews, so keep them coming! Thank you very much, I'm going to answer them privately.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The calm before the storm increased continuously if that was actually possible. Sherlock was away a lot, John couldn't tell if he was working a case or killing boredom in any other way. The consulting detective was chatty when at home, insulting John in his usual manner and keeping the flat in a continuous state of disarray. Still, John caught Sherlock looking at him when he thought that the doctor wasn't noticing it.

John was pretty sure that it had something to do with the third strike hanging over Sherlock's head; the consulting detective hated the unknown with uncanny passion. John thought that Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to do something warranting the third strike, until he realised that Sherlock would do something idiotic sooner or later without any incentive or threat hanging over his head.

Sherlock entered Bakerstreet, slammed the door behind him and threw his coat at the couch.

John, who'd been resting on the couch, sat up and threw the coat at the floor. "Sherlock?"

The detective slouched into the armchair. "What were you doing this fine day? No wait, I can tell. You reek of smoke, your cuffs are wrinkled and you have bags under your eyes. You were out with Stamford and only came home recently." He leant back and narrowed his eyes. "I understand that you find a bit of happiness going out with Stamford, but even you should be bored by now. You meet with him every two days, don't you?"

Being flat mates with Sherlock Holmes required one to turn a deaf ear to a lot of his insulting babble. John had learned that early on. "How was your day? Did you manage not to insult any foreign dignities today?"

Sherlock didn't answer and John turned the TV on. They watched the last few minutes of a bad soap opera in comfortable silence, John enjoyed the brief moment of peace and quiet before the news started.

"Spending your lunch break at Hyde Park is not always as exciting as it was today," reported the news lady.

John grabbed the remote and tried to turn the volume higher simultaneously with Sherlock snapping out of his quiet time: "Don't do that."

John turned to his friend. "Why not? It must have been something interesting when it's on the news."

"Watching TV is bad for the health of your brain. Brain cells deteriorate easily if you consume too much TV and you really don't want to lose the few you still have left."

John sighed and decided to ignore his flat mate. He turned the volume up.

"Harry Black, who was enjoying his lunchtime with his wife Melissa, was shocked when he saw the two men fighting. He took his mobile phone out to film the scenery, we have him to thank for this fascinating video." A screen appeared behind the news lady and the amateur film was shown.

John watched in awe as the film started. He could see Sherlock approaching Mycroft in Hyde Park. The brothers talked for half a minute and it was quite obvious that they were arguing about something. Sherlock, being the type to use body language to enhance his arguments, waved his hands in front of his face. Mycroft, who felt his private space invaded, grabbed for Sherlock's arms and held him tightly. The consulting detective suddenly pulled his arms back and Mycroft lost his balance, stumbling. It wouldn't have been so bad hadn't they been standing next to one of the small ponds that graced the area.

Mycroft stumbled into the pond, cursing silently. The vein on his forehead was pulsing dangerously as he climbed out and confronted his younger brother. He began yelling at the younger Holmes when he saw the phone camera aimed at him. He composed himself immediately and smiled a thin lipped smile at the man with the camera.

"It's nice to see that our government employees can maintain some humor during their stressful days," concluded the news lady the story. "I'm sure that this video will go viral on YouTube, you can find it under 'soaking wet government'."

John slowly turned towards Sherlock who was counting something on the floor. "Care to elaborate?"

"Does it really need to be elaborated? It's not my fault that Mycroft can't stand on his own two feet." Sherlock crossed his arms.

John was still silently laughing about soaked Mycroft when he remembered something the elder Holmes had said a short while ago. "Did you know why Mycroft was in Hyde Park today?"

Sherlock swallowed. "No, why would I? I don't make it a habit to know my brother's whereabouts at all time."

"You were in Hyde Park because you wanted to go for a stroll? Sherlock you never go outside unless you have to. You were here when Mycroft told me, and you never forget anything no matter how disinterested you seem."

"Fine. So maybe I knew, what does it matter."

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course it matters! Your brother was there to meet a representative of Scotland Yard we both know."

"He treated me like a child!" Sherlock jumped out of the chair and started pacing. "He yelled at me in front of Lestrade, he has no right to treat me that way! Now he knows how it feels if someone tampers with your dignity in front of someone!"

"You made sure he had to meet Lestrade soaking wet? Very mature, Sherlock, really."

Sherlock shot him a dirty look. "How did you figure this all out? You never watch the news on TV… Ohhh."

John smiled. "Lestrade told me to watch the news if I wanted to know what you've been up to. The rest wasn't really difficult."

Sherlock sat back down. They kept quiet for a short while until John heard Sherlock ask: "What's strike three?"

John smiled an evil look. "I don't want to hear another word out of you!"

"You can't."

John held his hand up. "I can. Quiet now."

Sherlock regarded him cautiously. "I…"

"NO."

"John..."

"No!"

Sherlock glared.

John smiled; it seemed to have the desired effect. He wasn't really surprised though, Sherlock loved to talk, even when John wasn't there to listen to him. "Not one word! You hate being quiet, maybe now you'll think twice before doing something dumb like that again."

Sherlock got up and went into his room, closing the door behind him with a loud bang!

**A/N.:** The, hopefully, long awaited third strike. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as usual, I'm looking forward to reading your reviews! As usual, I'm going to reply to them privately.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"So he's not talking to you?"

John nodded.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered briefly how he ended up as John's therapist. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"

"Yes. No." John frowned and rubbed his temples. "I told him a week ago that he was allowed to talk again. But the not talking isn't the problem. Do you remember the time when he broke into the Yard?"

Mycroft nodded, his expression brightened slightly. Even though he would never admit it to anyone, that story had been quite funny and he still had the surveillance tapes that John had sent over.

"He's doing it to me now. Wherever I turn, wherever I look there's one of those damned post-it notes. God, they are so insulting, I'm reading them with a nagging Sherlock like voice in my head."

Mycroft allowed a rare chuckle to escape his lips. "He turned the punishment you bestowed upon him against you."

"Yes, thank you Captain Obvious," grumbled John and took a sip of his beer. He was already far beyond the tea stage of being annoyed with Sherlock. "Really, I don't know how much longer I can put up with him." John had lost count of how often he'd said or thought those words since he moved into Bakerstreet, they had become some kind of mantra; to be said when one was upset with the wayward detective.

"Do you mean that?"

John was taken aback by the expression lingering in Mycroft's eyes for a second, a mixture of anger, disappointment and... dread? "No, no of course not. It's just... sometimes I wonder if anything I say or make him do has any effect at all. I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to just give up and let him be."

Mycroft frowned deeply. "You might not be aware of that, but the simple fact that Sherlock accepts your punishments means that you are getting to him. He might not change his behavior the way you'd like but he accepts that whatever he did wasn't right. Don't give up on Sherlock, too many people already did."

Sherlock always vehemently denied that John had an investigative streak, or at least not more than the old skull on the mantelpiece, but he was very wrong. John immediately sat up a little bit straighter at the chance of hearing something about Sherlock's past but was immediately discouraged by Mycroft's stony expression. He decided to slightly change the subject. "What should I do then, about the note writing?"

Mycroft smiled coldly and it made John shiver. "You are a creative man, John Watson, you will figure it out." He got up and nodded at the waitress. He then turned back to John. "You still talk to him, don't you?"

John kept seated and watched the elder Holmes leave. The waitress approached him while he was still pondering Mycroft's words. She informed him that his bill was already paid and John felt a pang of satisfaction that the UK government had expensed his beer. He was thinking about the last few days with Sherlock while finishing his drink.

Sherlock entered Bakerstreet late in the evening, no doubt after bugging Lestrade or Mycroft. Maybe even Molly. He smirked superiorly at John and reached for the stack of post-its next to the door. His fingers lingered over the mantelpiece and he frowned slightly when he couldn't find his pen in its usual space. He let his gaze wander through the whole room before settling on John. The consulting detective raised his eyebrow in one perfectly executed motion.

John smirked and very slowly removed a pen from his pocket. He could feel Sherlock's patience vaporizing into thin air as he carefully wrote a note. He held the piece of paper up and grinned.

"Yes, I removed every single pen from this flat, you either talk to me or there's no communication at all."

Sherlock stared at John, his expression clearly stating: "You want to challenge ME?"

John scribbled a few more words. "I only talk if you do."

Sherlock crossed his arms, far from admitting defeat. He did seem a little bit less convinced, though. He eyed the pen currently in John's hand.

John shook his head, grinning, before breaking the pen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His fingers, hidden within the pockets of his coat, tapped impatiently against his leg.

John hid a grin; he could easily detect and correctly interpret the movement in Sherlock's pockets. The consulting detective was obviously unsure about what to do next. The doctor was waiting patiently, a trait that he didn't share with his flat mate. He could see that Sherlock's finger movement picked up the pace and he knew that he'd won.

"Fine."

John suppressed the victory announcement. "What was that Sherlock? I couldn't here you?"

If looks could kill, John would have been cold out on the floor within seconds. "No more writing?"

"Fine," growled Sherlock. "You should really make up your mind. First you want me to talk, then you don't."

John laughed.

**A/N.:** I'm still alive! That's the good news. The bad news are that by now I'm working 15 hours a week, next to studying full time, visiting two relatives at hospitals and writing my bachelor thesis. Today was a national holiday, though, and I really missed John and Sherlock :-) I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'm looking forward to your reviews, you have no idea how happy they make me. I'll try to answer them via pm.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"John? I… I need your help, please John, I didn't know who to call…"

John blinked rapidly to quicken the process of awaking. "Molly? What's wrong, where are you?" Sleepily, he managed to turn on the lights and stared at his watch, half past one in the morning.

"I'm at Barts, in the morgue." Molly Hooper's voice was shaken, she seemed terrified. "Something's moving, John."

John nearly fell out of his bed as he tried to put shoes on while holding the phone to his ear. "Don't worry Molly; I'll be there in a second." He tried to calm the mortified woman down to the best of his abilities while he knocked on Sherlock's door. He received no answer, one quick look inside confirmed his fear that the consulting detective would be absent. The doctor stopped a cab and entered Barts morgue only minutes later. He found Molly perched behind a desk, trembling.

The woman noticed John and her relief was visible. "Thank god you're here John! Look!" She pointed at the gurney in the middle of the room. On top of it lay a black body bag. "I came here because I forgot my keys, and this gurney was there, I swear I didn't put it there. I went near it to check were it belonged and something moved!" She whispered the last words in sheer and utter terror.

John frowned. "Something moved?" The body bag looked spooky under the sterile light of the morgue. "Are you sure? Maybe it was just a shadow?"

"No!" Molly shook her head vehemently. "No, I swear it moved, John please believe me!"

John got up slowly and advanced towards the gurney. He had nearly reached it when something in the body bad moved and he took an involuntary step back. Molly sobbed quietly in the background. Whatever was inside the body bag didn't stop moving and a terrible suspicion arose in John. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number. A fraction of a second passed and the moving stopped at the same time as a phone began to ring.

"John? Why are you calling so late?" The voice was muffled and John couldn't only hear it from the phone, but also from the body bag.

John sighed and felt an impulse to shove the body bag from the gurney. Instead he was content with opening the zip. He stared down at Sherlock's face.

"If you know where I am why do you call me?"

John frowned and rubbed his temples. "Get out of there!" He went back to Molly to comfort her while Sherlock untangled himself from the body bag.

Sherlock came to John as soon as he had gotten rid of the body bag, Molly had already left, mumbling something about very strong tea to sooth her nerves. John looked up to his friend. "What the hell is wrong with you Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

John shook his head. "Why are you posing as a dead person in the middle of the night?" He really hadn't thought that that needed clarification.

Sherlock shrugged. "I had a case a while back where someone hid inside one of those body bags to gain access into a morgue. I just wanted to see how he did that."

"Come with me!" John scowled and grabbed Sherlock at his collar, what was a feat in itself as the consulting detective was quite a bit taller.

Sherlock allowed his friend to drag him outside of the hospital. They rode a cab back to Bakerstreet in silence.

Back in the apartment John prepared some tee, Molly was not the only one who needed some calming. Sherlock was waiting for him in their living room, completely content with staring into nothing.

John set a cup of tea in front of him and took a seat. "What did I tell you about experimenting with humans?"

Sherlock seemed truly surprised. "Not to do it, but I didn't this time."

"What do you call badly scaring Molly Hooper?"

"Molly was there? She was not supposed to be there, I checked. Stupid ordinary people and their list writing skills, one can't rely on anything."

Now it was John's time to look surprised. "You checked? You really didn't expect her to be there?"

"No, of course not. What would I have gained from frightening Molly? My intention was to find out how well you can breathe in a body bag; clearly they are not designed for that."

"Clearly," repeated John quietly.

Sherlock looked at him hopefully. "Since I tried to do anything correctly, there is no need for punishment, is there?"

John thought about it for a minute before shaking his head. "There still is, Sherlock you know that Molly works odd hours and can be called in at any time. You should have cleared your experiment with her beforehand."

Sherlock looked as if he wanted to protest but kept quiet and waited instead.

"No experiments for a week." Sherlock opened his mouth but John held his hand up to stop him. "I know what you are going to ask, and yes, if god is merciful and grants us a case, you might do everything necessary to solve it."

They sat together in comfortable silence, both sipping their tea until Sherlock spoke: "What am I supposed to do then? There is no case, I cannot conduct any experiments, don't you see that you are feeding my boredom? Is that really what you want?" Sherlock continued before John had time to answer: "Alas, we could play cluedo again."

"No!" John lifted his hands defensively. "We must not do something so extreme. You could read something."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I read everything in this flat. Those books are of no interest to me."

John gestured at Sherlock to wait and disappeared into his room. He emerged seconds later, carrying a book thick enough to be classified as a blunt object in a murder trial. "There you go."

Sherlock eyed the book distrustfully before reading the title. 'Modern advances in DNA profiling and fingerprint analysis.' He looked back to John. "Why do you have something like that? You do not read anything that is more complex than the society column in the paper."

John exhaled slightly and decided to let the insult pass. "It's for you, you idiot!"

"For me?" Sherlock held the book in front of him and studied it carefully. "Why?"

John laughed. "Sometimes I wonder how you can remember so much, know everything and still forget the most basic things."

"Oh not this again," sighed Sherlock. "I'm not going to discuss the solar system with you once more!"

"Sherlock… it's your birthday."

Sherlock checked the calendar on his phone, nodded and stared at the book some more. John nearly had to laugh out loud again; the look Sherlock was giving the book was akin to a chocoholic looking at a forbidden treat.

"Do you think this book is going to keep you out of trouble for a while?" asked John, happy that he apparently picked the right book.

"No," mumbled Sherlock quietly. "A day perhaps, but not a week." He got up without ever tearing his eyes away from the book. He only turned back when he was already standing in the door to his room and locked eyes with John. "Thank you!"

**A/N.:** There you go, another one! I hope you like it and as always I'm really looking forward to your reviews! Ah, and one thing I wanted to ask of you: I started to watch Merlin, and those of you who know the show, don't you agree that there are some similarities between the actors for Merlin and Sherlock? Sometimes the expressions are so similar, and their way of pronouncing stuff.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

><p>John exited the cab around noon. He stretched, cracked his neck, looked around and froze. In the middle of Mrs. Hudson's most beloved tulips laid an animal skull with antlers. An animal skull wearing yellow headphones. Now, normal people might have been surprised by the animal's choice of headgear, but John knew that particular skull because it used to hang on the wall in their living room. He rolled his eyes and prepared himself mentally for whatever retarded explanation Sherlock had to offer.<p>

He found their living room in a surprising state of order with Sherlock lying on the couch, clad in his blue robe, staring into space. Not surprisingly there was a spot of dusty wall where previously had been the animals skull. Sherlock waved airily and John couldn't tell if he was acknowledging him or if the movement was directed at an annoying fly.

John sat down in his favorite armchair, contemplating how to go on about this one, when Sherlock suddenly sat up and stared at his roommate. "So? What do you think?"

John frowned. "What do I think about... what?"

"No wonder all you could ever amount to was being a mediocre doctor, if you never listen to those around you."

John huffed. "If this mediocre medical doctor had a glorified carrier, you'd have to find another roommate who keeps up with you, because the doctor wouldn't have to go for split rent."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and wisely refrained from arguing, getting back to his original question. "Why do you think there's not been a single customer in ages?" He spoke very slowly and managed to stress every single syllable.

John shrugged. "Lestrade said something about a peace wave over London."

Sherlock waved the comment away. "I hate it. Where are the good old criminals in times of terminal boredom?"

"Well seeing as you aren't dead yet, you seem to have found a cure to today's boredom." John waved at the empty spot on the wall; a spider was crawling across it, visibly surprised at the lack of hindrance.

Sherlock's eyes flickered over to the wall. "I don't know what you might have heard John, but staring at an empty wall increases boredom."

"I'm talking about the animal skull, possibly of an elk, on top of Mrs. Hudson's tulips!"

Sherlock looked utterly bewildered. "There are no elks in London, and even if there were any, they wouldn't rest on Mrs. Hudson's flowers. Were you drinking again? Yes, yes you were, you even slept on Stamford's couch again."

John cracked his neck again, he was too old to sleep anywhere else than in a proper bed. "The skull Sherlock."

Sherlock's confusion was still apparent.

"The animal's skull you put those hideous yellow earphones on?"

Sherlock seemed to think hard about what John said, suddenly his eyes lit up. "That skull," he looked at the empty spot. "Where is it?"

John growled silently and was pleased to see that Sherlock reacted to his obvious sign of growing anger. The consulting detective's head whipped around and he looked at John. "What in god's name possessed you to throw it out of the window?"

Sherlock kept quiet for a bit before getting up and looking out of the window, right next to the empty spot on the wall. A few seconds passed before he looked back at John. "I have no idea how that got out there."

John frowned; life would be so much easier if Sherlock could just for once immediately admit to the idiocies his overactive brain concocted. "Sherlock my patience today is barely existent..."

Sherlock mumbled something.

"What was that?" John rubbed his temples.

"I said: That's what happens when you go drinking too much at your age. Stamford really isn't a good influence on you."

John slammed his hand down on the coffee table next to him, Sherlock flinched. "And you would know about proper influences? I don't care much about you throwing your own stuff out of the window!" His voice got louder with every word. "But did you see Mrs. Hudson's face after you slammed my laptop on her flowers? I warned you that you'd better keep any disturbances away from her flower beds. And what do you do Sherlock? You went ahead and disregarded everything I said. I thought I was getting at least a little bit through to you with every punishment that was necessary, but now I see that you learned nothing. Nothing! I don't even know why I still bother; you obviously don't care about anyone but yourself!"

Sherlock, who was usually pale, seemed almost translucent as soon as John was done with his speech.

John leant back in his chair, exhausted. He raised his hand to run it through his hair, a gesture he had adopted from Sherlock only days after moving into Bakerstreet.

Sherlock got up, stared at John, opened his mouth and closed it again. He turned around without another word and retreated into his room. A second later he poked his head through the door. "I didn't… I wouldn't… I…" nothing intelligible came out of mouths until he took a deep breath. "I didn't throw it out." He disappeared again and closed the door without any unnecessary noise.

John sank back and stared after his roommate. His exit had been very unconventional for a sulking Sherlock and John wondered for a second if he'd gone too far with what he said. What he couldn't understand was why Sherlock would do anything that could hurt their landlady's feelings. He'd been very remorseful after it happened the last time, and John had been totally convinced that Sherlock would never hurt Mrs. Hudson's feelings again. The only logical explanation could be that the consulting detective hadn't been thinking about it, the consideration of human emotions and feelings hidden deeply under curiosity.

Mrs. Hudson found John in the same chair two hours later when she came up with the animal skull in her hands.

John saw her and rose to his feet immediately. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm so sorry I don't know what came over Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him. "I don't know what you are talking about, dear."

Now it was John's turn to be surprised. He gestured at the animal skull. "It landed on your flowers."

"Yes," Mrs. Hudson gave an embarrassing chuckle. "I'm sorry for that, but I don't think anything's broken. God knows why you keep having that relic on your wall; I guess Sherlock is quite fond of it. Where is he then? Didn't leave the house today, is he sulking again?"

"Sherlock's in his..., wait why are you sorry?"

"I came up here earlier to bring Sherlock a cup of tea and a few biscuits; he really doesn't look after himself, that boy's too thin. I put the tray down and saw a spider crawling over the skull. I stumbled and somehow managed to knock the skull of the wall and out of the window. Can you put it back up?" She handed the skull over to John who took it immediately. "Thank you dear." Mrs. Hudson returned downstairs leaving a very bewildered John in her wake.

The doctor sank back in the armchair. He stayed there for a few minutes before dialing Mycroft on his cell.

"John... what did he do now?"

John exhaled slowly. "Nothing. Mycroft… I think I made a huge mistake."

* * *

><p><strong>AN.:** I'm soooo sorry that it took this long to update the story, this time with a twist. There has been a lot going on in my family, and I moved to Munich in Germany for this semester, but now I'm back and willing to write again.  
>I hope you will forgive me that I didn't manage to reply to your reviews from the last chapter, I promise I will reply to everyone that is written for this chapter!<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 19**

"He's ignoring me. Ignoring me! All because I accused him of something he didn't do, can't he act like an adult and accept my apology? For god's sake, I said sorry more times than I care to remember, and what does he do? He stares at me as if I wasn't there and continues doing god knows what it is that he does!"

Mycroft watched as John rambled on, his fingers intertwined, a carefully neutral look upon his face. One would think that the one man who basically was the British government had better things to do than to listen to the quarrel between his brother and his roommate, but he had promised mother that he would look after Sherlock, and if he had to suffer through John's musings than that's what he would do.

"It's not just me whom he's ignoring!" John was pacing in Mycroft's office, his hands acting out gestures as if they had their own will. "Lestrade called yesterday with a case, you know how Sherlock loves those. And it wasn't a boring one, no, not even Sherlock could call it that, something with a man who vanished out of his house, no sign of forced entry…" John trailed off staring out of the enormous window. Mycroft could see his shoulders slump in defeat before the doctor turned around. "He ignored a case, Mycroft; I really don't know what to do."

Mycroft pondered all possible answers carefully, deciding not to go ahead with the 'He's an idiot and will snap out of it' answer. He was used to dealing with all sorts of precarious situations, from high officials involved in less than morally acceptable dealings, or diplomats quarreling about right and wrong, but none of these situations that he could so easily control, matched any problem concerning his brother. The older Holmes felt a migraine coming up. "Did you try catching his attention with anything other than talking?"

John scowled. "You know how your brother is when anyone does anything stupid? And I mean stupid by his standard; therefore it happens practically all the time?"

Mycroft nodded, absentmindedly noticing that John changed from referring to Sherlock as ` roommate` or `friend` to `Mycroft's brother` when he was upset or angry with the consulting detective. Sometimes Mycroft was astonished by the similarity between them and parents talking about their child, shifting the blame for the childs bad behavior between each other.

"You wouldn't believe what I've tried…" continued John, again staring out of the window. "I tried everything to coax him out of his self-imposed sullenness. I removed the password from my computer, usually that alone makes Sherlock go into least at an half an hour rant, this time not a single word even though I saw him using my computer. I declared my full trust in your abilities to run Great Britain, again, nothing. I even told him over breakfast that Anderson managed to solve the case Sherlock decided to ignore, all by himself and he didn't even look up from his tea!"

Mycroft looked up at John. The former army doctor was visibly angry, his pulse had quickened, his skin became redder and judging by the way he continuously put his hand to his forehead he was also battling a headache. His hands seemed sweaty and his pupils were dilated. Taking in all the symptoms John was exhibiting at being upset with his brothers made Mycroft wonder if Sherlock could be classified as a biological hazard, for the sake of humanity.

The older Holmes had come to trust John without restrictions and decided it was time to let him in on a little something about his brother. "Always knowing everything and having no clue about social norms made Sherlock very unpopular around lots of people, I'm sure you can imagine. From a young age on he learnt to ignore their opinions in order for him not to get hurt. The fact that he responds this way to your false accusation means that he actually listens to you when you have got something to say. Having never dealt with a situation like this he has no idea how to and has apparently maneuvered himself into some sort of depressive fit, ignoring each and everyone around him. He probably didn't even realize that you apologized. First you get him to talk to you, and then you can sort this whole mess out. I think there's a way to snap him out of it though…"

* * *

><p>John entered Bakerstreet and breathed in deeply, looking for Mrs. Hudson. The older woman appeared conveniently in front of her door and smiled at John. "Did you talk to him?" She didn't have to explain whom she was referring to. "I can see that you are both not doing so well."<p>

John shook his head. "Could you bring us some tea, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson winked at him. "I'm your landlady not your housekeeper dear." They chatted for a few minutes before John went upstairs, ready to drag Sherlock out of the hole he hid in. He could already hear Sherlock playing the violin from outside the living room, it meant that the consulting detective had at least left his room and that was a good sign. John entered, greeted his roommate and got no reply. So far nothing unexpected. He flopped down onto his favorite chair, unceremoniously dumping his jacket on the chair next to his. Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to appear with a tray in her hand. "I've got tea and some biscuits," said the old woman, she hated the tension between her boys and hoped that John would make it alright rather sooner than later.

She put the tray down in front of John at the same time as the doctor reached for one of the cups on it. His hand connected with the tray, Mrs. Hudson lost her grip on it and the teapot as well as the cups rolled of the tray and shattered on the ground. Some of the tea made its way onto John's legs and the doctor jumped up with a soft cry. He tried to cool his legs down while snarling at Mrs. Hudson: "Are you blind you idiot?" Mrs. Hudson looked at him with so much vulnerability, her hands shaking and her eyes filling up that he immediately regretted his words. He registered in the back of his head that the sound of the violin stopped, Sherlock was immediately next to them, putting his arm protectively around Mrs. Hudson's shoulders.

"How dare you John," hissed the angry consulting detective. He pulled Mrs. Hudson nearer and their landlady leaned her head against his shoulder.

John couldn't even begin to explain the immense relief he felt at hearing Sherlock's voice for the first time in four weeks. He turned to Mrs. Hudson. "I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson; I really don't know what came over me."

The motherly landlady smiled at him, sensing that something important had happened. "It's okay dear; you were under a lot of pressure lately." She left the apartment to go to her own flat, figuring that her boys needed some time to talk.

John and Sherlock stared at each other for nearly two minutes before John broke the silence. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Sherlock eyed him carefully until he finally answered: "No you shouldn't have."

John recognized the look in Sherlock's eyes and he understood that this was a situation Sherlock didn't know. It didn't surprise him though, considering that Sherlock didn't let people close enough to him to get hurt, it wasn't surprising that this hadn't happened before. "I promise I'll hear you out should we ever find ourselves in such a situation again."

Sherlock cocked his head slightly to the side, bit the corner of his lip and narrowed his eyes. "Will we?"

John chuckled. "Probably. You have a way about you that unleashes my temper. But it isn't that terrible Sherlock. People get into fights, someone apologizes and everything goes back to normal."

"Hm." Sherlock didn

* * *

><p>'t seem convinced and John knew that words wouldn't change that, but actions might.<p>

"Give it time, okay?"

Sherlock nodded. He reached for his violin and paused, suddenly having an idea. "Since you accused me of doing something even though I was innocent, does that mean that I get off the next time I do something you are not pleased with?"

John actually had to laugh. He could see the mirth in Sherlock's face, something he had missed over those last weeks. "No way!"

Sherlock chuckled and mumbled something akin to "had to try" before he started playing again. John noted that it sounded a lot happier than before. The doctor sat and listened to the music for a few minutes before he got up and made his way to Mrs. Hudson's door. He knocked tentatively and smiled at the older woman after she opened. "You are an amazing actor Mrs. Hudson!"

The old landlady giggled. "I do not get to do it often, thank you though for warning me beforehand, I might have been a bit shocked had you reacted this way without telling me. Is everything alright between you two? I don't like you fighting."

"Neither do I Mrs. Hudson, neither do I," answered John. "But I think everything is okay. Thank you very much for helping."

"No trouble John. No get some sleep; you look like you really need id!"

On his way upstairs John thought back to Mycroft's advice: "Our mother never knew how to deal with Sherlock's abilities, they were never really close. However, you have seen him around Mrs. Hudson, whom he holds very dear. Unsettle her, and you'll most likely unsettle him as well."

A/N.: Less humor this time, but I hope you still like it! Please review and let me know what you think! I haven't managed to answer to your last reviews, but I'll try to do that later today, and I will definitely answer to the reviews to this chapter! I hope you are all well and can enjoy Easter!


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N.:** Hey guys, the good news: I'm back and still alive. Moved back home after a semester abroad, and every once in a while have time to write. Enjoy the new chapter, updates will hopefully follow more regularly.

**Chapter 19**

John had been in the middle of a "guys night out" at the pub with Lestrade when the call came. He hadn't realised that he was Sherlock's emergency contact, he'd pestered the man long enough to put him down as such, but Sherlock never did as he was told. Lestrade hat watched him take the call, he'd seen his face turning from curious, to annoyed, to seriously afraid.

John snapped the phone shut and turned to the detective. "I've got to go to Barts, Sherlock's been injured."

Lestrades eyes widened in surprise and worry. "I'd drive you, but..." He trailed off, gesturing at the empty pints around them.

John nodded, a police car was useful for quick movement, but a cab would have to do. They left the pub, only stumbling once or twice on their way; John attributed it to the nerves, not at all to their alcohol consumption.

Losing the first two cabs that came by, one to a heavily involved couple, the other to an old woman with three German shepherds, they finally managed to get one. The cab driver eyed them suspiciously, most likely afraid that they were going to throw up in his cab. He accepted the given address and reached Barts quicker than the police car would have, apparently in a hurry to get rid of his passengers.

The nurse at the reception told them where to go, and they soon found themselves on the fourth floor, where the trauma patients were housed. They reached Sherlock's room and froze for a second when they heard a loud crashed followed by a few swear words in Sherlock's uncanny deep voice. John burst into the room and regarded him with a look unique to exasperated mothers and doctors. Sherlock was sitting on the bed, clad in a blue hospital gown, his hair was mussed, his feet bare and not quite reaching the floor. An infusion, most likely something to help with the pain, was connected to a vein in his left arm, or rather, should be connected. Apparently Sherlock had tried to leave the bed and knocked over the infusion holder, it had fallen over and ripped the needle right out of Sherlock's arm. The consulting detective looked at them, his eyes not focusing on either of the new arrivals, the drugs must already have taken effect.

John swore very silently and pressed the nurse button. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock's head whipped around and he focused on the doctor. "John! What are you doing here? I don't... the world's all wrong." John frowned at the last exclamation, and watched Sherlock as he flopped down onto the bed.

"Now that's better," exclaimed the so called consulting detective while staring up. "The ceiling should always be up, you know?" he said to no one in particular.

John sighed and, unable to see any injury, grabbed the medical chart from the foot of the bed. "You fell off our kitchen table and banged your head on the fridge?"

The nurse choose that moment to enter. She cast one look at her patient and frowned. "Tried to leave again Mr. Holmes?" she asked while restoring the infusion holder. Sherlock growled at her and tried to cross his arms in front of his chest, but she was not allowing it, deftly pulling his left arm out and inserting the needle. Sherlock apparently decided not to pay her any more attention, he waved John nearer to him and whispered: "They think I have a concussion."

John exhaled deeply. "Why were you on the kitchen table in the first place?"

Sherlock smirked and waited until the nurse left, he still didn't notice Lestrade standing in the door. He then looked conspiratorially at John. "I needed to get in here."

John sat down on the bed and Sherlock obediently scooted over. "You idiot banged your head in order to get in here?"

Lestrade laughed and turned it into a rather fake coughing fit.

Sherlock frowned at him. "How else do you get into a hospital? Really John, and I thought I was the drugged one here."

John bit his lip, rubbed his temples and exchanged an exasperated look with Lestrade. "The door Sherlock? Ever heard of it?"

The consulting detective seemed to really consider that option for a while before nodding very slowly. "Yes. See now that is why I keep you around. You always have unconventional ideas. Not like my skull. Not at all. He never said anything." His eyes no longer stayed focused, instead they darted around the room. He seemed to be counting something, judging by the use of his fingers.

"Why did you need to get in here so desperately?" asked John.

"I was in the middle of an experiment. My microscope broke and I needed a new lens. Then I remembered that I had some stashed away behind the loose tile on top of the kitchen wall, so I climbed onto the table and slipped. It was the perfect cover. They have microscopes here." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and left it there, never completing the motion. His eyes widened and panic crossed his face. "Where's my other arm John? You can't lose an arm because of a concussion? John? You are the doctor, what did you do to my arm?" He stared frantically around, searching for the missing limp. Lestrade didn't even try to hide his laugh this time.

John gently pried Sherlock's arm out of his hair and showed it to the upset detective. A quick glance to the infusion bag showed him that they were giving him morphine and Sherlock had always had a strong reaction to that particular drug.

"Oh good!" Sherlock smiled contently and continued to stare at something very interesting on the ceiling.

The nurse entered the room again with a tray full of less than delicious hospital food. John took it from her and put it on the night stand. Sherlock scoffed at it and turned away from it. John sighed and turned to the nurse. "What did he do?"

The nurse grabbed John's arm and pulled him out of the room. John had barely enough time to tell Lestrade to keep an eye on Sherlock.

"What did he do?" repeated the nurse in a hushed voice. "What did he do? I'll tell you. The second the ambulance arrives he wanders off. The security stopped him right before he entered our laboratory, thank god he was wearing a head rest or they'd never identified him as a patient. On the way to his room he managed to insult seven nurses, three cleaning women and two doctors. We first placed him into the observation ward, and he upset the whole floor within minutes. That's when we gave him the first dose of a sedative because he really wouldn't let us examine his head. Then we moved him to the trauma patient's ward, mainly because most patients there are unconscious. He managed to escape the orderlies because he exited the elevator a second before the door closed, then the sedative kicked in and he was lying on the floor a few minutes later. We got him here, and he was calm, it think the morphine did the trick. Are you his emergency contact?"

John nodded, not surprised at all that Sherlock managed to basically upset the whole hospital. It was a wonder that he was still allowed to work at Barts, most likely that was only because he usually stuck to the lab and mortuary. "When can I take him home?"

The nurse shrugged. "Tomorrow, we really want to keep him overnight for observation. But is there anything you can do to keep him in bed and from wandering the halls?"

John chuckled. "He really doesn't listen to me that much, but…" He was interrupted by a crash and a loud "Sherlock, dammit!" John rolled his eyes, smiled apologetically to the nurse and re-entered Sherlock's hospital room. It looked like Sherlock had thrown the bowl of chicken noodle soup right at Lestrade, and the detectives ducking skills were really rusty, judging by the noodles covering his suit. "Okay, I had enough," exclaimed Lestrade, angrily wiping soup residue from his forehead. "I'm leaving you with this lunatic!"

John watched him leave before turning back to Sherlock. "Why did you throw the soup?"

Sherlock shrugged and pouted.

John raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat expectantly.

Sherlock glared at him sulkily. "The bad man insulted me."

"What he say?"

"He said I had an ordinary injury. I don't do ordinary. Only ordinary people do ordinary. I'm not ordinary!"

John had to laugh. "You are an idiot, so much's for sure. Just…. don't throw anything at me, okay?"

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes. John found a comfortable position in a chair next to the bed and they sat in calm silence for half an hour until Sherlock cracked one eye open.

"John?"

John put the book he'd found down and sighed. "Sherlock?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Mad? What makes you think that?" He put the book down and leant closer.

"You said nothing."

John frowned. "Nothing? And that makes you think that I am mad. You have to explain your reasoning Sherlock."

Sherlock laughed tiredly. "Nothing new", mumbled the consulting detective tiredly. "Always have to explain everything to you. But I don't mind. Have to talk sometimes or the voice gets rusty. And it's more fun than talking to the skull."

John decided not to take offense. "Go on then, explain."

"You always do something when I do something stupid. You scold and you yell and you lecture and you punish and then you forgive. I know that because I observed it, and I am good at observing. Am I good at observing? I think I am. Do you think I am?"

"Of course you are," confirmed John while he was still trying to wrap his head around what Sherlock said. Sometimes, when talking to his friend he really got the feeling that he was dealing with an approval seeking toddler. "Sherlock… do you… I mean…"

Sherlock cut him off with a smooth hand gesture. "I know what you are going to say. I always do, it's a thing, you know? I don't want you to be angry with me, but if you are then go ahead and punish, and then everything is normal." He waved through the air to emphasise his words.

John slowly shook his head. He really thought that Sherlock was clearer on the whole "why do I have to punish you" issue, but apparently not everything had made it through his thick skull. "Sherlock, I'm not punishing you as a vent for my anger, I am punishing you for you to learn not to do stupid things." He eyed his friend carefully, maybe this drug induced openness was a good thing.

Sherlock frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So it's supposed to be good for me? I don't like it. Can we not do that anymore?" The whining definitely made him sound years younger.

"You're not supposed to like it Sherlock, that's why it's punishment. And you do realise that I only do that because I care about you?" At first he thought that Sherlock was seriously considering his words, but he became concerned when the consulting detective didn't answer after a few minutes. John got up and smiled when he saw that Sherlock had fallen asleep. John sighed and went back to his chair, prepared for a night in a very uncomfortable device. It didn't take long until he fall asleep. He slept deeply, not noticing when Sherlock woke up, or when Sherlock turned to John and watched him with sleepy eyes. He also didn't hear him whisper "Thank you John" before he fell back asleep.

**A/N.:** As always, I really appreciate hearing from you. I'll answer your reviews as soon as I got time.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

John entered the flat, greeted Mrs. Hudson and continued upstairs. He'd spend the last hour talking to a very beautiful young doctor and therefor felt quite elated, at least until he entered the living room. Where there had once been the entrance to the kitchen there was now a gigantic whiteboard. John stepped carefully around the stacks of books unceremoniously dumped on the floor by his slightly messy roommate, and cocked his head to the side.

"Predictability" was the headline, followed by multiple tables, arrows, mathematical formulas and the whole thing mentioned Johns name surprisingly often. John opened his mouth to call for Sherlock, to question him about his newest project when said detective entered the room, whispering "12:48, John enters Bakerstreet and discovers the whiteboard. I knew it. "

"What are you doing?" asked John.

Sherlock smiled his very annoying smile and gestured at a specific spot on the board. Directly below a mathematical formula that had managed to incorporate Johns name as a variable, were tine written lines. The doctor leant closer, read, and scowled. "12:48" stood there. "John enters Bakerstreet and discovered the whiteboard."

John straightened up and looked at his friend who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed before his chest. "What's that Sherlock?"

Sherlock shrugged. "A predictability chart. It's about you."

John exhaled slowly. "I got that much."

"Oh good. I have to explain so much to you, I wasn't sure if you were following."

John growled silently, and, unexpectedly, Sherlock's face lit up with a smile. "See? I knew you'd react like that, because you are predictable!" he exclaimed gleefully. "Look!" he gestured at the whiteboard. "I can predict your actions with an 80% accuracy."

"I don't always do the same thing at the same time," argued John while trying to make sense of the stuff on the board.

"Of course not. That would make it too easy, and way too boring. But there are clear indications. When you were out drinking you eat heavily greased meet the next day. When you meet a woman you want to impress you start using a ridiculous amounts of hygiene products. I could go on for ages." John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock that that wouldn't be necessary, but it was too late, the consulting detective already continued. "And I might as well. The likelihood of you yelling at me increases exponentially with the absence of new cases, god knows why. You start reading books about the meaning of life when you get too many spam emails in a short time span, possibly because you try to convince yourself that there is more to life than useless emails. And every time you get dumped by one of those distractions you seem to care so much about, you..."

"Alright, alright!" interrupted John, not liking where this was going. "So you decided to analyse every move I make. How long has this been going on?"

"Quite a while," answered Sherlock, he moved the board a bit and slid behind it. "Tea?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Since you figured me out so well, why don't you tell me?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead he emerged again with two cups, raising an eyebrow at John daring him to decline. John sighed and took the offered beverage. "The notebook!" He suddenly remembered the small reddish brown notebook Sherlock had had on him at all times. "That's what it was for? Your observations?"

Sherlock nodded while stirring his tea. "Very observant John," drawled the consulting detective. "It got too small after a while, the board is much better."

They sat in silence for a few minutes until John remembered something. "Hang on," he said and his tone made the consulting detective cough on his tea. "How did you know about my emails?"

Sherlock seemed to disappear behind his cup.

"Sherlock... if I'm so predictable you must have known that I was going to ask. And don't even try to lie to me. I might not deduce stuff as quickly as you do, but I do know when I'm being lied to."

Sherlock deemed it not wise to mention that somewhere on the white board was a tiny line telling that John would be upset about the data gathering part. "Fine. If you must know, I read your emails."

John stared at him deadpan. "I changed my password."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, maybe not the smartest move because John now became visually agitated.

John leant closer. "Now think very carefully about my next question. What else did you do that I would not have agreed to?"

To John's surprise, Sherlock actually seemed to think about the question. It took him a good five minutes to reply. "I talked to your ex-girlfriends." John winced. "I stole your calendar and copied it while you slept." John frowned. "I might have observed you when you thought I wasn't at home." John growled. "I stole some equipment from the yard to monitor your phone calls." John allowed his head to drop forward, Sherlock took that as a clue to stop.

"And I thought we were clear about the whole privacy issue, Sherlock."

The consulting detective shrugged and stated "I needed to do something!"

John shook his head slowly. "You do know that I will punish you for that."

Sherlock shrugged again, it started to fray John's nerves. "Nothing new there. Predictable. Boring."

John assumed that, had he been a cartoon character, steam would be rising out of his ears. "Get yourself in the corner!"

Sherlock shot him an exasperated look. "We had that before. So uncreative."

John huffed. "Fine, then go to your room!"

"Boring and predictable."

"No telly, no coffee, no specimen in the fridge!"

"Always the same… wait, no specimen in the fridge? Would you rather have me keep them out here where they start to decay?"

John mentally counted down from ten and Sherlock interpreted the silence wrongly, thinking that John had run out of options. "See? You can't even think about a new punishment, god, everything's so boring."

John stood up abruptly. "Boring?" he growled and marched over to Sherlock, grabbing the consulting detective at the upper arm and yanking him up. "Boring? I'll give you boring!"

Apparently the look in his eyes was nothing akin to murder, Sherlock tried to shy away from him but couldn't, John was still firmly holding his arm. "Okay John," the consulting detective tried to reason, but it was too late. "You made your point, I'll just go to the corner now!"

John shook his head. "Oh no, you don't." He hauled Sherlock out of the living room, down the stairs and out of the house, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's enquire about another 'domestic'. John stopped the first cab that came their way and ordered the cabbie to take them to Hyde Park. There he still hadn't let go of Sherlock, but the consulting detective no longer cared, he had no idea what John was up to and that was something new. He wouldn't go so far and say that new was exiting, but it was definitely less boring.

They reached a small pond with people sitting on benches all around it. John pointed at a young man who was slumped on the bench and fed ducks with bread crumbs. "Go ahead," ordered John, gesturing at the man. "Tell me all about him?"

Sherlock looked unconvinced, suspecting a trap, but finally complied. "Twenty to twenty-five years old, musician by the shaggy hair, fancy clothes and the guitar case, still lives at home, because no-one that age can iron clothes properly. Recently dumped by his girlfriend, three days ago judging by the length of his beard. You can see it by the bags under his eyes, he hasn't been sleeping well. Also there's the three day beard, clearly there had to be a reason, because he's otherwise very clean. He was going to meet her here, to make up with her, but she never showed, otherwise he wouldn't have discarded the flowers so easily." Sherlock gestured at a bouquet on the ground. He opened his mouth to continue, but John interrupted.

"You wanted punishment that is not boring? Something new, yes? Fine. Go and talk to the poor chap and do not say anything about what you just figured out. Because it's private, even if it's visible to you, and people have a right to decide when to share something private with you."

"I don't want to talk to this guy. There is nothing interesting about him."

John grinned diabolically. "I know. Now go!"

Sherlock glared at John and shuffled over to the young man. John saw them making conversation and he actively had to keep himself from laughing when he saw how miserable Sherlock looked. "Serves him right," thought the army doctor. "He really has to stop looking througsh my stuff."

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><p><strong>AN.:** Another chapter that quickly, don't you think that values a review? I think it does.


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